


It Often Rhymes

by FortySevens



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A VERY SMALL Smidge of Angst, DameRey, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, It’s Not A Vacation Poe, Look! A Force Ghost, Or More Like Porn Interspersed Around Some Plot, Porn With Plot, So Have A Very Romantic Mission Fic Instead, Sprinkling In A Dash of Legends Canon For Funsies, Star Wars Doesn’t Have A Valentines Day, Tags To Be Updated As The Chapters Do, That Needs To Be Done On One Of The Most Beautiful Planets In The Galaxy, This Author Has MANY Feelings About Queen Amidala’s Handmaidens, This Is Extremely Important Rebellion Work, friends (with benefits) to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/pseuds/FortySevens
Summary: "And you want us to stay as long as it takes to secure their support.""As long as it takes. This is important.""I understand.""This is not a vacation.""I didn't say that, General.""The look on your face said that, Poe."





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> “History doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes.” - Mark Twain
> 
> Look, it’s the Valentine’s Day fic I’ve been teasing on Tumblr (I'm fortysevenswrites, and I tend to both post previews and indiscriminately reblog whatever tickles my fancy) for…a lot of weeks! Or maybe it’s not that many weeks. Time is weird and dangerous.
> 
> Anyway, I've been going back and forth the last couple days about how to post this, and now that I'm editing the last few thousand words, I've decided to post a chapter a day leading up to Valentine's Day. 
> 
> So, on that note, here's chapter one. As promised, this one is about 1000000000% times fluffier than [break me down and build me up ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483083) so, you're welcome. I mean, who posts angst for Valentine's Day? (If you do, I mean, you do you!)
> 
> Anyway, this is my first hack at actually published smut, but of course, me being me, this fic has three sex scenes. So, just throwing that out there.
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 182:  
> “Unless I screw this up again, I’m going to marry you.” 
> 
> “Well you better not mess this up.”

“And you want us to stay as long as it takes to secure their support.”

 

“As long as it takes. This is important.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“This is not a vacation.”

 

“I didn’t say that, General.”

 

“The look on your _face_ said that, Poe.”

 

Poe resists the urge to either sigh or fidget or both as he stands at parade rest in the middle of Leia Organa’s office and accepts his new orders with an inclination of his head, “It’s not that, it’s just-“

 

“I need you to understand. You are taking Rey to meet with one of the greatest spies in the history of the Old Rebellion, a woman who was instrumental in dismantling the Imperial presence on Naboo after the second Death Star was blown up and the Emperor with it,” Leia repeats, but sounds like she’s saying it for the first time, and for a second Poe worries that he might be a little _too_ combative with his superior officer, which he’s really been trying _not_ to do since everything that happened on the _Raddus_. “And our agent has been understanding enough of our current situation to help us secure a meeting with the Naboo’s queen, so that Rey may have the opportunity to convince her that, despite Darth Vader murdering one of the greatest rulers in the history of that planet’s government, we as a Rebellion and she as our Jedi are worth both Naboo’s support _and_ its funding.”

 

He nods once, “Yes ma’am.”

 

“No matter what you think, I am not coddling you by sending you on a mission that does not including you blowing things up with your X-wing, Poe. Get that right out of your head.”

 

“Of course you’re not, ma’am.”

 

“Not only are there very few people I would trust to handle a mission this sensitive, there are even fewer people I’d trust to watch Rey’s back while on Naboo. Rey knows you, Rey likes you, and Rey knows exactly what you are capable of. Kylo Ren is well aware of my family’s history with that world, so there is a chance that he and the First Order may attempt to track you there. Keeping Rey save _and_ securing Naboo’s backing are both paramount to our ability to continue this fight.”

 

Poe nods again, because yes, he did think it was a little bit that she’s trying to bench him without _actually benching him,_ treating him with kid gloves because it hasn’t been long since they all almost died.

But she’s not the only one who’d rather send Rey with backup she’s actually comfortable being around—she may have taken to the New Rebellion and how different life here is from her old, isolated existence on Jakku, but Rey still has very few people she’d truly trust to have her back.

 

Fortunately, Poe is one of the few.

 

“I understand. We won’t let you down Leia.”

 

It’s not often that he uses her given name, especially not while they’re in an official capacity, but—it’s been a _really_ long few months, and Leia could probably use the personal reassurance with a matter as important as this one is.

 

And it works, because Leia’s shoulders drop just a fraction, and she goes from stern and criminally overworked general of the Resistance-turned-New-Rebellion to the nice lady-friend of his mother’s, who would come visit him on Yavin IV when he was a kid every year on Shara Bey’s birthday, “I know you won’t.”

 

The assurance warms him, because it’s always better to have someone like Leia Organa at your back, and not stunning your back into the bulkhead of a Mon Cal battle cruiser.

 

It hasn’t been easy, but part of him thinks that he’s finally earning back the trust Leia had in him before he went and botched things so badly.

 

“And Dameron.”

 

When she’s using _that_ tone, and is looking at him with in all-too-knowing way she’s used ever since he showed up on the tarmac of her first Resistance base with the rest of the NRDF’s Rapier Squadron in tow, Poe knows he does _not_ want to know what she’s going to say.

 

But Leia still is his superior, and she hasn’t dismissed him yet, so he doesn’t have a choice, “Yes?”

 

“Don’t forget,” she says, perfectly bland. “At the very beginning of the Clone Wars, my biological mother secretly eloped with a galaxy-famous Jedi and pilot on Naboo. As you know, it didn’t end well for either of them.”

 

Poe clears his throat, but can’t bring himself to look her in the eye, because there is _no legitimate_ reason for her to bring that up, for her to know anything related to what he and—

 

 _No Poe, stop thinking, this is_ not _the place to be thinking about_ that.

 

Damn it, why did two of his favorite people in the galaxy have to have the ability to basically read minds?

 

This is _incredibly_ inconvenient.

 

“Uh, I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am. No problem. I promise not to propose to Rey.”

 

 _Fuck_ , he needs to stop talking.

 

“Propose that you what?”

 

The muffled squeak that claws its way from his throat is one of the most embarrassing sounds he’s _ever_ made, and Poe jumps, but only a little, shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at one of the datapads on Leia’s desk so he doesn’t have to look at Rey—who appeared in the room _from out of nowhere_ , which is completely unfair.

 

Favorite people, _so_ unfair.

 

“Nothing,” his voice cracks, and his cheeks go hot, because that has _not_ happened since he was a _kid_. “Not a thing.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Leia has that look on his face that she gets when she’s laughing at him without _actually laughing_ , and he is _not_ going to look at Rey. No. Not if he wants to both keep a straight face and what’s left of his dignity _and_ get out of this without actually confirming any more than he already is to Leia that he and Rey are—

 

 _Damn it_ , enough!

Leia clasps her hands together on her desk, “Very well. Dismissed, Dameron.”

 

Finally, he brings himself to look at Leia—from the side, he may be just a little bit terrified of what he might see, and _oh yes_.

 

He has reason to be terrified.

 

Because Leia definitely _knows_.

 

 _Crap_.

 

—

**Three Months Ago**

To think that the Millennium Falcon flies faster now that she’s part of a convoy probably isn’t accurate, but there’s a part of Poe that feels like it been moving quicker through the hyperspace lanes since they picked up a few more ships in the month since everything that happened on Crait, and thus have been able to distribute their personnel a little more evenly.

 

Poe sighs and shifts a little in the overlarge co-pilot’s seat, stares out the viewer as the stars fly by in streaks of blue and white. His eyes itch a little and every part of him wants to sleep, but every time he closes his eyes, he sees everything that’s happened since Kylo Ren’s stormtroopers dragged him off Jakku and ripped into both his body and his mind, knocking him so off kilter that he doesn’t know which way is up anymore.

 

And _fuck_ , all he wants to do is get some sleep.

 

Resettling again, Poe stretches his legs out as far as they’ll go, until they bump up against the forward consoles. It takes some of the strain off his lower back, but not enough got him to ignore it. Fourth months since the explosion on the flight deck and four months minus one day since Leia blasted him into that bulkhead, and he’s still feeling it.

 

It’s nothing less than what he deserves, but it’s certainly not helping.

 

“You need to stop trying to fall asleep in my cockpit. Do you know what’ll happen if someone who isn’t me catches you?”

 

He jolts, startled enough because he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching the cockpit, but it’s Rey, and she’s so soft-footed from years of walking on sand that it’s also not a surprise that she showed up without his notice.

 

Either way, he doesn’t bother turning to face her when he responds. It might be rude, but he’s too tired to care, “I get left alone to catch up on some much-needed rest?” He snarks before his mind catches up with him.

 

“If given the chance, sleeping or not, Chewbacca will throw you out of that chair and you know it.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing I wasn’t actually sleeping.”

 

He hears her mutter something about zoning out being pretty much the same thing as sleeping and he needs to stop being so damn stubborn about it. All things considered, she’s not _wrong_ , but he declines to either comment or argue. He doesn’t have the energy. He’s _tired_. He wants to sleep.

 

He just _can’t_.

 

They lapse into silence for a while, and Poe goes back to staring out at the stars and listening to the way the engines rumble below their feet, since talking is about one of the last things he wants to do.

 

When Rey shifts, it’s a little louder, so he can track her as she moves through the tiny space. She ends up stopping just over his shoulder, one hip propped against the side of the pilot’s seat.

 

Finally, she hums idly, and he hears the soft scrape of fabric against skin as she crosses her arms over her chest, “It sounds like you need a distraction.”

 

“And what? You’re offering?” He tosses back, more on instinct bred from years and years of bantering with his pilots than anything else.

 

“Wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

 

Finally, Poe looks at Rey, at the way she stands with her feet spread a little and her how her hands are now on her hips, how _awake_ and energized she looks. Pretty much immediately, his brain throws itself out of the gutter and back to reality, and he sighs, can already _feel_ his back protesting at him at the mere _thought_ of what she’s hinting at, “I’m really not in the shape to spar, scavenger girl.”

 

One corner of Rey’s mouth lifts, just a fraction, “That’s not the kind of distraction I was talking about.”

 

Poe just stares, and a strange, buzzing noise whirrs in his ears as his mind grinds to a _halt_.

 

“Um-“

 

Either unaware of how his mind has blanked and may or may not be in the process of rebooting, or she’s just ignoring it, Rey shrugs and leans more of her weight against the seat, “I’ve got a private bunk, with a bed that’s big enough, so-“ she tilts her head, tapping her fingers against her arm. “If you’re interested. It might help with the whole, you know, not being able to sleep thing.”

  
This woman.

 

This woman standing next to him is _nothing_ like he’s ever known.

 

 _Absolutely nothing_.

 

“You’re serious,” he manages, still a little dumb.

 

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

 

“No,” Poe shakes his head. “It’s not that, just— _really_?”

 

It’s just—it’s not that it’s not flattering and he’s _definitely_ interested, of course he is, but—he’s kind of a huge fucking mess these days.

 

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal, you know,” she holds her hand out. “You coming?”

 

Well—

 

It’s not like he has all that much to lose.

 

Poe takes her hand, lets Rey heave him out of the chair, and follows her out of the cockpit.

 

The door to her quarters shuts with a _swish_ , and Poe cups a hand around the back of Rey’s neck, hauls her up against him with an arm tight around her waist before he kisses her once, hard—a little bit like he’s trying to challenge her into something, though for the life of him, he doesn’t know why he’s trying to scare her off from something they _obviously_ both want.

 

When he pulls back, he stays close enough that their noses still brush, her breath gusting against his mouth as she catches her breath. Rey looks him in the eye, considers him for a moment, and then she cups his jaw and kisses him again, so Poe decides to stop thinking like an idiot about trying to scare her off and instead think about the perfect way her body fits into his, how she kisses back just as hard as he does, how breaking away for as long as it takes for her to peel his shirt off his shoulders is the last thing either of them wants, and the sounds she makes when he twists his fingers into her hair to tilt her head and change the angle, deepen their next kiss.

 

They clumsily push at his pants while shuffling back in the direction of Rey’s bunk—it’s been _weeks_ since Poe slept in a real bed, the most recent of which has been destroyed since the First Order obliterated their base on D’Qar with the—

 

 _Enough_.

 

Instead of thinking about his first misstep in a long series of missteps that nearly doomed them all, Poe focuses on the miles of skin he bares to the harsh lights of the room, marvels at how she’s still so pale despite growing up in the desert. And then he marvels at just how much off it there is when he finally peels the last of her clothes off her body, drops them carelessly to the floor. He finds a cluster of freckles on her shoulder, where her skin is usually covered by her wispy desert gear, and suddenly all he wants to do is trace every freckle and scar on her chest and abs and legs with his tongue.

 

By the time he gets his mouth on her, Rey has to muffle the sounds he’s drawing from her with a muscled arm over her mouth, and he brings her to orgasm before he pulls her arm aside and presses his slick lips to hers, swallows the gasps she makes as she tries to catch her breath while he fits his hips between hers.

 

The clutch of her around him is so shock-tight he almost blanks out on her, feels the muscles in his back loosen slightly even as his abs tense and everything draws back in again until his mind goes blessedly blank.

 

When he finally comes back to himself, some hours or years later, Poe realizes his face is smashed into the space between Rey’s neck and shoulder as he lies half on top of her, and she’s running one hand through his hair over and over in a way that keeps him on that steady buzz of calm.

 

Against his nose, he feels Rey’s pulse slowly start to even out, and through the shadows, he almost sees a cluster of freckles on her hairline that he must have missed in his quest to map every part of her with his tongue, and he wants to get to those too, but doesn’t have the energy to do much more than mouth against whatever skin he _can_ reach.

 

So, he marks it down in his fuzzy mind for next time, hopes that there will _be_ a next time and that he _remembers_ it all for next time, if they’re even _alive_ the next chance they have to take some time to do this, and if they’re even going to end up being in the _same place_ the next time they land wherever they land.

 

The next, the next, the next.

 

They’re always going to be moving to the next.

 

“You know,” Rey says idly, her husky voice drawing him from his rambling musings in a way that makes him twitch, but he’s _so worn out_ , twitching is all he can do. “I didn’t think it was going to take _that_ much to convince you.”

 

“You,” his voice cracks a little like it hasn’t in _years,_ and his cheeks go hot as he clears his throat and tries again, but pretty much all he can bring his drained body to do is bury his face against her neck so she can’t see it. “You’ve been thinking about this?”

 

Rey rolls over in the narrow bunk, and one of her knees just misses impacting with something crucially important—and more than a little sensitive, at this point—as she resettles on her side with a leg curved over his hip. She tilts her chest back a little, moving away despite his noise of protest and the way he tries to make her come back to him, and shoves a pointy finger into his chest, “Don’t ask stupid questions Commander.”

 

“Oh, okay,” he says, slow and a little dumb, and Rey laughs and feathers her mouth over his, draws him into a slow and easy kiss that doesn’t take much effort from him, because it’s not going to go anywhere because—

 

He’s tired _and_ drifting off.

 

Her plan worked. Go figure.

 

Poe’s eyes flutter around a yawn that makes him break away from her lips, and he keeps his eyes shut as he shifts forward so he can shove his face back into that spot on her neck, slides one arm around her and rests his palm against the curve of her butt. “Wake me for shift change, all right?”

 

The words are already slurred and muffled, but probably not too badly that she can’t understand him.

 

Distantly, he hears Rey snort back a laugh, and then she goes back to running a hand through the sweaty curls at the back of his neck that makes his mind go blank and soft and hazier and hazier, “Definitely not. Rest up, Poe, I’ll watch our backs.”

 

He falls asleep before he can muster the energy for a response, and sleeps for five hours.

 

It’s the most sleep he’s gotten in one stretch in _months_.

 

—

**Present**

Before he can make his _finally permitted_ escape, Rey turns to Poe, one eyebrow arched toward her hairline, as if wordlessly asking him why he’s being absurd, “Are you ready to go?”

 

He looks her in the eye because he knows he has to or she’ll know something’s wrong, and if she says something about it in front of Leia, he’s probably going to lose it, right then and there.

 

“I have to get a few more things together, and make sure BB-8’s finished its maintenance,” he manages in a rush. “I’ll meet you on the flight deck in an hour.”

 

Poe Dameron, Commander of the New Rebellion, does not run out of General Leia Organa’s office.

 

No.

 

He just walks quickly.

 

—

Back inside the conference room, Rey turns to Leia, that eyebrow still tilted in the direction of her hairline, “Do I want to know?”

 

Leia snorts, “Probably not,” she grabs her datapad in clear dismissal. “Good luck, Rey.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought we were staying at a cottage?" Rey mutters as she takes in the massive, low-roofed building stretching out in front of them.
> 
> Poe snorts, "Cottage must mean something different on Naboo."
> 
> Turning away from the spectacle of convenience, Rey feels her brows furrow together, "I'm not sure I know what cottage means when I'm not on Naboo. I've never seen anything like this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. Seriously, you guys. You have floored me with the response to chapter one. I'm so thankful for each and every one of you!
> 
> And on that note, here's chapter two!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 186:   
> “Look, I know you’re a super serious secret agent or whatever, but I can’t take you seriously in all that clown makeup.”

“Hey, be carefully not to scratch my bird while I’m gone, Chewbacca!” Rey calls as she steps out onto the sunny flight deck just about an hour later, finds the Wookie in question hovering over the pair of half-terrified mechanics that are overseeing the Falcon’s refueling.

 

Chewbacca warbles something that makes one of the mechanics jump before they realize he’s neither talking to either of them nor about to rip any one of their arms off, “ _I’ve been flying the Falcon long before you were even a speck of dusty in this galaxy, hairless baby rat_.”

 

“I don’t care,” she laughs and stops up next to him, grins in thanks at the mechanics when they look at her, because at least one of them has to be somewhat less terrifying. “It’s still my bird.”

 

With a howl of something that verges on _incredibly_ unflattering, if her translation is accurate, Chewbacca waves one of his giant paws in the air in dismissal before he cuffs her on the shoulder hard enough that she staggers and nearly loses her balance, which is not helped by the weight of the bag hanging off her other shoulder, “ _Just get our funding, cub. And stay out of trouble_.”

 

“On a diplomatic mission?”

 

The string of curses Chewbacca lets out as he reminds her very pointedly of the one time she thought it would be a great idea to take an escape pod into the very heart of the First Order, thus making her one in a _very long line_ of troublemaking Jedi, and it makes her scowl, “Oh fine,” she wrinkles her nose at him. “Just make sure the porgs stop nesting in the hyperdrive.”

 

“ _Don’t tell me what to do, rat_.”

 

But the soft, it giant, paw ruffling through her hair mellows out some of Chewbacca’s somewhat old-man tendencies, and he pushes her in the direction of the transport on the other side of the flight deck with a warbling goodbye. As she dodged vehicles, droids, officers and the odd piece of equipment someone thought would be a good idea to just _leave out on the tarmac_ , Rey waves over her shoulder at the cluster of pilots getting ready to go out on recon, including Jess and Snap, who look _way too amused_ for their own good, so she is _not_ going to approach.

 

Poe’s pilots, Poe’s problem.

 

And when the man in question emerges from base—his cheerily bleeping droid in tow—Rey watches him completely avoid going anywhere near the pilots, which confirms that she’s made the right choice.

 

_Definitely_ Poe’s problem.

 

She meets him by the boarding ramp of the transport that’s going to drop them off at one of the spaceports in a nearby system, so they can hop from planet to planet for a few days before sneaking onto Naboo with enough anonymity that hopefully the First Order won’t catch on.

 

There’s that _hope_ again.

 

Shaking out of the thoughts, Rey lets her bag fall to the sand-swept asphalt, drops to a knee and places her palm on BB-8’s dome, “Are you ready to go, BB-8?”

 

The little droid whirls around her feet, bleeps excitedly, [Yes, Designation: Classified Friend Rey! BB-8 loves galactic road trip to [location classified]!]

 

With a laugh, Rey looks up at Poe, who stands with his hands still stuffed deep in the pockets of his fatigues, “And you? Are you done being weird?”

 

He scowls down at her, “I’m a pilot. Weird is what I’m made of.”

 

“Sure,” she snorts, holds a hand out and lets him help her back to her feet, but he drops her hand once she’s steady because—Rey sketches a glance over her shoulder, and yeah, Jess and Snap are doing a _terrible_ job of pretending to be going through their pre-flight checklists, what with the crude gestures and the way their clipboards are nowhere near their faces. “Is that supposed to be some weird code or something?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Poe grabs her bag and heaves it over his shoulder with his, “We should get going. It’s going to be a long trip.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” rolling her eyes right back—she’s not about to let him keep up this nonsense the entire trip—she gestures for BB-8 to lead the way up the ramp. “Let’s get going.”

 

—

The arrive in Naboo’s Lake Country just over one exhausting week later, and it’s one of the most beautiful worlds Rey’s ever seen.

 

The landscape shoots right up on the top of her list of beautiful places—a whopping three locations, including Takodana and their base Scarif, even as soaked as that world is with the blood of good Rebels of decades long past—and it has a calm vibrancy she’s never realized could be found in a _place_.

 

Everything is so colorful here, from the buildings dotted around the water and hidden in the low hills by tall trees, to the flowering bushes that line the narrow roads, and even though it’s warm, there’s a cool bite to the air too, that harkens to the impending change of the seasons, or whatever weather pattern happens on this world. That breeze cuts through their speeder and lends some fragility to the landscape, like one wrong move can crush it all to dust.

 

It’s a _way too appropriate_ metaphor for the current predicament facing the galaxy, if Rey thinks about it, which she’d really rather not do.

 

She has too much to focus on, too many more important things to worry about right now, than considering the lengthening shadow of Kylo Ren and his quest for subjugation.

 

There’s silence in the speeder—Poe finally stopped being so weird the further they got from base, but he’s just as lost in thought as she is. They let BB-8 control the conversation while Rey takes in the scenery with wide eyes and Poe thinks about whatever is whirling through his mind.

 

The road twists and turns around the little, interconnected lakes that blend from one to the next to the next, until Poe turns their speeder onto one of the narrower side roads that curves around a small, more private lake. He takes them through the small gate that opens with the passcode Leia passed to BB-8 before they left, and after another few minutes of driving, they finally reach a stone-covered driveway that lends in front of a—

 

“I thought we were staying at a cottage?” Rey mutters as she takes in the massive, low-roofed building stretching out in front of them.

 

Poe snorts, “Cottage must mean something different on Naboo.”

 

Turning away from the spectacle of convenience, Rey feels her brows furrow together, “I’m not sure I know what _cottage_ means when I’m _not_ on Naboo. I’ve never seen _anything_ like this.”

 

When they get in front of the cottage-that-really-isn’t, Poe cuts the engine, but Rey doesn’t move to get out, even though it’s been quite a long drive from the spaceport, and part of her really does want to stretch her legs.

 

“You okay?”

 

She tilts her head, but can’t bring herself to look away from the vines that twist and crawl around the posts that support the _cottage’s_ expansive front porch, “You know I have no idea what I’m doing, right?”

 

Poe grabs her hand, squeezes briefly, but lets go all too quickly, and she feels bereft for a second before she remembers that that’s ridiculous and she needs to cut it out, “You’re going to be fine.”

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

“I know you. You can probably do just about anything you want.”

 

It’s not that her smile is forced, but it’s a little difficult to make her features shift into the way a comment like that should make it, so she mostly just nods and takes Poe’s hand again, draws the side of her thumb along his before she lets go and climbs out of the speeder.

 

As they do—and as if on cue, which Rey appreciates—a pair of women emerge from the cottage.

 

They’re both older than Leia, but one woman who’s hair is more silver than brown looks like she could be _Leia’s mother_ , if Padme Amidala hadn’t been very much dead for the part of the last six decades. Still, the resemblance is uncanny and a little unnerving. The younger woman—the woman’s daughter, most likely—maybe has a decade in years on Leia, but with more color in her dirty blonde hair, and they both stand with straight backs and auras that speak to Rey of at least _some_ Force sensitivity.

 

Before Rey can dedicate any more focus on just how Force sensitive they may or may not be, BB-8 _flings_ itself out of the back of the speeder and barrels away, greets the women with a series of happy beeps.

 

“Hey!” Poe snaps from where he’s getting their bags. “BB-8 settle down!”

 

But the little droid ignores the directive from its master and _zooms_ up the stairs, and Rey’s heart stops in her chest and she toys with the idea of using the Force to slow it down, until BB-8 stops just short of crashing into both women.

 

[Hello Agent Designation: The Decoy!] BB-8 bleeps as it inclines its head toward the older woman, regards her just like it does Leia. [Droid Designation: R2-D2 sends its fond regards, and is pleased you have not succumbed to the ravages time, of which droids like ourselves are immune!]

 

Rey chokes on whatever noise just tried to crawl from her throat and turns her wide-eyed gaze to Poe, who just shakes his head, “Couldn’t tell you.”

 

But the woman, _The Decoy_ , apparently, just laughs, shoots a fond glare in the direction of the other woman, who is doing a terrible job at hiding her cackles behind the back of one slim hand, “Oh?” She asks, her voice low but still with an even, authoritative tone that speaks to years of working in public service. “I’m quite glad to know Leia hasn’t let that little monster rust yet. Please do tell it I send my fondest regards back to it _and_ dear C-3PO.”

 

BB-8 spins in a circle, bleeps a happy noise, clearly misses the little dig at R2’s somewhat stubborn tendencies, [I will, Agent Designation: The Decoy! Designation: Master Poe and Designation: Classified Friend Rey and BB-8 are much appreciative of your offer to assist Designation: Best General Ever Organa!]

 

They follow BB-8’s path at a little slower pace, and the younger woman meets them at the foot of the four steps that lead up to the porch, “Welcome to Varykino,” she says, inclining her head in the direction of her hands, which are clasped in front of her. “I trust your trip was easy?”

 

There’s something ab out her voice that—Rey can’t quite place what it is about it, and she feels Poe glance at her, quick, before he picks up the introductions, “It was, thanks. And thank you again for hosting us. I’m Poe Dameron, and this is Rey.”

 

She smiles, “We know,” she waves a hand toward the stairs. “My name is Hardé, and that’s my mother, Sabé. We hope you’ll be comfortable here. At the moment we’re not quite sure when your meeting at the palace in Theed will be scheduled. Queen Ga’eer is being a bit stubborn.”

 

At her side, Poe’s shoulders shift as he straightens, stands tall like he does when he reports to Leia, and half of Rey thinks he’s about to salute these women too, “It’s an honor, ma’am,” he says to Sabé.

 

“I take it your droid was better informed of your contact than you were,” she laughs instead of commenting on whatever honor it is.

 

[Droid Designation: R2-D2 told BB-8 the story of how it helped your ship land on Tatooine.] BB-8 turns to Poe and Rey. [Agent Designation: The Decoy requested that Droid Designation: R2-D2 be commended for its actions to protect Designation: Queen Amidala of the Naboo from attack from designation: The Trade Federation.]

 

Still a little—well, _starstruck_ is the only word Rey can think of, because Poe almost looks _exactly_ like Rose did when he introduced her to her the first time, but somehow, he still manages a nod, “General Organa sends her regards, ma’am. We really appreciate the help getting this meeting.”

 

They lead Rey and Poe inside, and after a squat protocol droid takes both their luggage and BB-8’s attention, they head into the sitting room, which boasts massive, floor to ceiling windows that showcase the shimmering lake that stretches beyond the house.

 

Rey sits carefully on one of the couches, feels a little bit like she’s going to make a mess of the pristine fabric, even though she really hasn’t been traveling for that long—even with the detours, the New Rebellion was planet-hopping for far longer than their trip from Scarif to Naboo—and it’s not like she hasn’t been able to bathe regularly with how much fresh water available on base, but—

 

This is all _so much_ nicer than she’s _ever_ seen.

 

Even Poe looks a little out of place amongst all the finery.

 

At least she’s not alone.

 

Feeling the pressure of a gaze on her, Rey looks over and finds Sabé regarding her in a way that makes her itch a little bit, and she resists the urge to fidget as the old spy evaluates her.

 

As Hardé drifts off into another room to make another call to her contact at the palace, Poe settles next to Rey, a respectful enough distance away, and when BB-8 sedately rolls back to them after making sure their rooms and the rest of the property was secure, it stops between them, rounded base bumping gently against their legs as it whistles quietly to itself.

 

“So,” Sabé finally says once she’s settled in a chair across from them. “Leia has never been very forthcoming with me, but please tell me how she’s doing.”

 

Honestly, Rey thought Sabé would ask about _her_ first, about what it must be like to be the last Jedi, and during the drive from the spaceport, she spent so much of her brain power on thinking what she’d even say to _that_ , so much so that she doesn’t actually know how to answer the question Sabé actually asked. So, she turns to Poe, shrugs and lets him take this one.

 

He sits straight-backed, answers almost like he’s giving a formal report, “It’s been understandably difficult,” he starts after thinking for a second, likely trying to figure out the line between honesty and what’s actually still pretty classified, even from a tenured spy like Sabé was and probably still is. “We’re doing everything we can to take some of the pressure off of her.”

 

“On her mother’s—“ Sabé breaks off, pauses, and then starts over. “On _both_ of her mothers’ behalf, I appreciate everything you’re doing for her.”

 

“You knew Breha too?”

 

Sabé nods, “She was a good friend of Padmé’s for many years, but mine as well. I had to officially leave Padmé’s service when I learned I was pregnant, but when Leia was still very small, Bail used some of the Rebellion’s resources to sneak me off Naboo a couple times, part for Rebellion business, but also so I could look after her. They’d have one of their younger spies go undercover as my son, and we’d travel as a pair of refugees to Alderaan. I was only ever given his real name once, but I believe he passed in the days leading up to the Battle of Yavin,” she shakes her head, as if shaking off the memory. “But while I was there, I spent a lot of time with Breha and her court. The destruction of Alderaan was—”

 

Before anyone can say anything, Hardé speeds into the room, a frown on her face as she turns fierce, pale eyes on her mother, “Are you all right?”

 

Then it clicks.

 

“You _are_ Force sensitive,” Rey blurts before she can stop herself. “ _Very_ Force sensitive. _How_ are you so Force sensitive?”

 

“With a father like mine, I think everyone who knew would have been surprised if I wasn’t,” she says, ever reasonable, even if she doesn’t give _any_ details. “It made hiding all of it—myself, my father, my abilities—very difficult. We had more than a few near-misses.”

 

Of course, hiding her existence, even as such a young girl living in the burgeoning Empire, was ever the more crucial with Sabé’s high-profile background, but—

 

“Your father?”

 

Hardé shares a long look with Sabé before she shrugs, “Technically, my surname is Kenobi.”

 

Silence falls as the information sinks in, and then Rey clears her throat, but no words come, and it’s not until Poe manages to grind out a, “ _Really_?” that Rey manages to come out with, “ _Kenobi_ ,” she says the word carefully, like it’s not a name but a word in one of the few languages she doesn’t know how to speak, before it finally clicks. “Like Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi who trained Luke Skywalker?”

 

“Yes,” Hardé tilts her head. “And on that note, I’m going to make tea.”

 

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Poe goggles, eyes wide as he stares off in the direction Hardé went—and by went, it’s definitely _fled_ , and Rey can’t say she blame her.

 

She probably wouldn’t want to talk about her own strange parentage either.

 

“She’s a _Kenobi,_ ” Poe has to confirm as he looks back at Sabé. “But I thought back in the old Republic days, Jedi didn’t-“

 

Sabé cuts him off with a roll of her eyes that makes her look at least two decades younger than she is, “Jedi Knights weren’t _eunuchs_ back in the day, you know,” she drawls. “The rules were about _attachments_ , not about getting hands in the cargo bay of a disabled ship stuck waiting in the desert wastes of Tatooine!”

 

“ _Mother!_ ”

 

“Oh what?” Sabé scoffs, waves a dismissive hand in the direction of the kitchen, and when Hardé’s huff echoes from that side of the house, she rolls her eyes again. “It’s no secret anymore, dear. You know exactly how you came to be.”

 

“But we don’t have to talk about it with _everyone you meet_.”

 

“Context is important.”

 

Rey share a wide-eyed look with Poe, but all he can do is shrug, and he looks seconds away from going back to peppering Sabé with questions about her illustrious history with some of the most famous Jedi in Republic history. Let alone _how_ she managed to hide it all with the Emperor’s eye _fixed_ on Naboo even as he forced the rest of the galaxy to submit to his will.

 

This is all _so_ bizarre.

 

“And _no one_ knew?” There it is, because Poe _definitely_ can’t help himself. “Like, no one _ever_ found out?”

 

Sabé looks down at her hands, and then her dark brown eyes turn toward the window, “Padmé Amidala took many secrets to her grave,” she says softly. “Not all of them her own.”

 

Oddly enough, it’s the only thing Sabé will say on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, some more commentary: 
> 
> 2\. I don’t know how I ended up shipping Sabe and Obi-Wan, but to this day I ship it hard. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> 3\. Come for the sexytimes, stay for a heaping helping of not-canon-anymore Rebellion history?
> 
> 4\. Per Wookieepedia, Hardé’s name is a play on one of Obi-Wan’s old Clone Wars aliases, Rako Hardeen, who apparently claimed to have killed Kenobi, but was ACTUALLY Kenobi in disguise. Oh. Spoiler? That might be a spoiler. My bad. 
> 
> 5\. Yes, the story Sabé tells Rey and Poe about traveling to Alderaan accompanied by a young Rebel spy in the early days of the Empire is a reference to a story Cassian told Jyn in the second fic in my Sleepless series, [Three People, Two Reunions, One Room In Medical](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12967689).
> 
> See everyone tomorrow for chapter three!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 186:   
> “Look, I know you’re a super serious secret agent or whatever, but I can’t take you seriously in all that clown makeup.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Really?" Rey asks around a laugh. "Sneaking through the halls in the middle of the night?"
> 
> "Apparently," Poe pushes the door shut behind him, and the quiet click is so much louder now that the house has settled in for the night and everything is dark and soft. "I feel like I'm fifteen all over again."
> 
> "You did a lot of sneaking around when you were younger?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's in luck! 
> 
> If you guessed: each and every one of you reading this story, then you're right, it's you! You're all in luck.
> 
> Because this morning I found out that, instead of having a nice evening spent going to the grocery store and watching the Olympics coverage, I have to help my boss at a work thing. So, because of this work thing and the fact that I'm probably not going to make it home until late tonight, you get Chapter Three (as you can probably already tell) now! During my far-too-short lunch break!
> 
> As always, I appreciate each and every one of you and your reactions to this story! Thanks thanks thanks!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 187:  
> “Wait, you’re a superhero?”
> 
> “How do you not know? My face is literally on the news on a weekly basis.” 
> 
> “I’m in grad school. I won’t have time to follow popular media until I finish my thesis. You’re lucky I’ve carved out some of my non-existent free time to date you.”

In her entire life, Rey has _never_ seen a bed this big.

 

It’s so _truly_ massive compared to just about _anywhere_ Rey’s ever slept, taking up most of the room in Sabé and Hardé’s cottage that she’s going to be staying in for the duration of the trip, and it’s covered with layers and layers of soft sheets and lush blankets and a veritable _mountain_ of fluffy pillows resting artfully against the ornate headboard.

 

A far, _far_ cry from her hammock in that ancient AT-AT on Jakku.

 

She approaches the bed with as much caution as she approaches just about every other new thing she’s encountered in the last few months, not because she thinks the bed is going to, well, come out and attack her or something equally impossible, but because there is definitely a large part of her that thinks that everything she’s happened since the afternoon she ran into BB-8 and saved it from Teedo is just some wild, strange fever dream.

 

Running her fingertips over the woodwork at the foot of the bed, Rey takes another step closer and presses her palm into the bedding, watches it _sink_ in like quicksand, but a lot less messy.

 

All she wants is to dive into this bed, see if it’s as comfortable as it looks, but if there’s one thing she’s learned about living like most people do—specifically from Jess and Karé—is that she _has_ to change into her sleep clothes before attempting to do that thing.

 

Having a set of clothes _just_ for sleeping is so strange, but—it means she has things of her own that she doesn’t have to fear she may one day have to trade away for food, so—it’ll do.

 

After digging through her bag for her sleep clothes and changing into them, Rey stares at the bed like the old TIE fighters she used to scavenge, debates the best way to tackle getting into it. With a shake of her head at just how ridiculous she’s being—which she’ll blame on exhaustion from a long week in transit—she pushes her hands under the pillows and blindly searches for the edge of all the blankets, before she eventually finds what she hopes is the edge and heaves the pile back. A couple of the pillows tumble off the far side of the bed, but she ignores them in favor of folding it back at one of the corners so she has room to scuttle under the heavy mass and cocoon herself on the plush mattress.

 

It _is_ so comfortable, and Rey’s pretty positive she’s never going to move ever again.

 

She can totally negotiate with Naboo’s queen from this bed. It’s totally possible and reasonable.

 

Grabbing one of the pillows, she drags it under her head, punches it into a better shape and snuggles in, curls halfway into a ball as she tries to turn her mind off and not think about—

 

Whatever she’s going to have to negotiate with the queen while making Leia’s pitch for support.

 

The queen only wants to negotiate with her, not Poe or any other envoy from the New Rebellion, not Sabé or Hardé or any of the other sympathizers on this world—

 

Just her.

 

It’s all on her.

 

The door swinging open steals her from her thoughts of the unpredictable eventually when she has to face down one of her biggest non-violent challenges to date, and she turns her head as much as she can without moving the rest of her body, sees Poe slip through the narrow opening.

 

“Really?” She asks around a laugh. “Sneaking through the halls in the middle of the night?”

 

“Apparently,” he pushes the door shut behind him, and the quiet click is so much louder now that the house has settled in for the night and everything is dark and soft. “I feel like I’m fifteen all over again.”

 

“You did a lot of sneaking around when you were younger?”

 

Poe opens his mouth to answer, and then stops and laughs, “I don’t think it’s in my best interests to answer that,” he shifts a little on his feet, like he’s not sure he’s welcome, which is both adorable and _ridiculous_. “I know how much this is for you, and I thought you might want some company, but I also thought I should wait until BB-8 settled down to recharge before I came over.”

 

“Smart move on both accounts,” she reaches out for him, but doesn’t move much otherwise, because really, this bed is so, _so_ comfortable.

 

Clasping her fingers, Poe runs his hand over her unbound hair, and Rey can’t help the little hum that sounds in the back of her throat when he presses his mouth to her hairline, “Just give me a minute.”

 

She nods into the pillow and watches him shuck off his lose sleep pants through half-closed eyes, drapes them over the foot of the bed like he does when they’re on base and the chances that one or both of them is going to be called in to handle an emergency is so high it’s almost guaranteed, and then he rubs a hand over the lump her legs make under the blankets, smooths out a couple of the wrinkles. Turning off the light—the one she forgot to get to and was halfway to resolving to just sleep despite it, because it’s not like she’s slept in worse conditions—before climbing over her, Poe crawls up to the other side of the bed, digs around for the edge of the sheets before he climbs in behind her.

 

When he stops moving and settles with a respectful distance between them, Rey debates for less than a second before she flops over to her other side and curls up against him—it’s not like it’s going to be any better or worse if Sabé or Hardé finds them tangled together or not. She settles her head on his shoulder and wraps a hand gently around the hem of his sleep shirt, and then Poe finally moves, one hand slipping around her lower back, palm spread broad and warm against her skin under her shirt, and a knee fitting between hers.

 

It’s the way they curl up when they’re on base or in the Falcon, but usually not until _after_ they have sex. And with traveling for days in close, close quarters, but with BB-8 in tow, they’ve had an unspoken barrier between them and Rey finds that she missed it—both the sex _and_ the post-coital snuggling.

 

Maybe she’ll bring it up while they’re here, if nothing more than to distract her from the fact that, at some point, she’s going to have to do the nigh impossible.

 

Or, well, _another_ nigh impossible feat.

 

As if sensing the trail her thoughts have taken, Poe rubs his hand up and down her back, “You okay in there?”

 

It’s easier to be honest when they’re lying in the dark and everything is still around them, like the galaxy isn’t falling apart at the seams that they can’t quite see, “What if I mess this up?”

 

His hand stills too, and then he slides it all the way up her back and cups her neck, squeezes gently and tucks his thumb up against her hammering pulse, “That’s not possible.”

 

“Poe,” she nocks a loose fist into his hip. “I’m serious.”

 

“So am I,” his other hand slides around her hip and he rucks up the hem of her thin shirt even higher so he can splay his fingers against her arm skin, the heel of his palm on the side of her abdomen and his fingers wrapped in the direction of her back, stroking gently, teasingly. “I think you might be in need of a distraction.”

 

Gripping his shirt tighter in her hand, Rey lifts her head off his shoulder so she can squint through the dark at him, refuses to squirm when his fingertips press into the curve right above her backside, “Really now?”

 

Poe shifts the leg he tucked between hers and uses the leverage to ease her to the back, presses her deeper into the mattress, “Definitely,” he murmurs as he brushes his mouth against her cheekbone, and then again over the patch of freckles below her eye. He hovers over her with his weight on her elbows, brushes his nose against hers before he leans in and presses a long, slow kiss to her half-open mouth, “Because you’re not going to get any sleep unless you _relax_.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been relaxed in my entire life,” she murmurs against his lips, twines her fingers into the shaved-short hairs at his nape and tugs him in for another kiss.

 

“Trust me,” he whispers, traces her lower lip with his tongue. “I know.”

 

Despite making a low, disagreeing noise in the back of her throat at the jab, Rey opens her mouth to his tongue, holds tighter to the back of his neck as she fights the weight of the blankets. She manages to curl her leg up and over his hip, settling him deeper into the cradle of her thighs, and Poe drags his hand off the curve of her backside, curls his fingers over the waistband of her shorts and underwear, pulls them down her hips in one slow hike.

 

Pressing a line of kisses down her neck, Poe teases his fingertips over the crease of her thigh until she makes a breathless whine at him and tugs at his hair. With a low laugh that reverberates through her chest, he drags one long finger along her slit before he slicks his thumb up against her and rubs it in tight circles over her clit.

 

Rey gasps into his mouth and pushes her hips toward his hand, grunts when he not only pulls away a fraction—a fraction far too much—but he also presses one of his knees against her thigh so she can’t lift up after him, “This is cheating,” she says in a drawn-out, breathy whine. “ _Not fair_.”

 

He hushes her with his mouth on hers as he tags his middle finger against her entrance, circles it there once, and then once again, “Just let me take care of you,” he slides to the first knuckle, then pulls away with a low laugh. “I’ve got you, scavenger girl.”

 

“Come _on_ then.”

 

Finally, Poe slides his finger into her, crooks it gently until she keens—he knows her so, _so_ well.

 

Shifting a little, Poe drops to his elbow and presses his mouth against her neck, traces down to where it meets her shoulder and gently sets his teeth into the tendon there, rubs his thumb in slow circles around her clit that make it hard for Rey to catch her breath.

 

With one hand clutching the back of his neck and the other fisted in the bedsheets, Rey pushes back against the limbs bracing her hips into the mattress, and Poe moves back to her mouth, kisses her hard and slips a second finger in with the first. Relishing in the stretch, Rey digs her fingertips into the small of his back, whines against his mouth as he moves his hand harder against her.

 

The pressure in her core tightens, and Rey breaks away from Poe’s mouth to gasp for breath as her orgasm hits her hard and from completely out of nowhere, and then Poe presses his lips back to hers to muffle the high-pitched whine echoing from her throat so they don’t wake the entire damn household.

 

He works her through the orgasm and a second one takes her even more by surprise than the first, before Poe slowly eases his fingers out, spreads his hand on her belly as she tries to catch her breath.

 

After two orgasms, Rey can barely keep her eyes open she’s so tired, and she’s halfway to drifting off, but Poe is hard against her thigh even as he shifts a little so he’s pressed to her side, but isn’t lying on top of her anymore, “What about you?” She somehow manages to ask, but her tongue is slow and clumsy in her mouth and the words string together like it’s one instead of three.

 

Poe rubs his fingers through the sweaty hairs at her temple, kisses her forehead, her nose, and then her parted mouth one more time, quick and gentle, “Don’t worry about me.”

 

A noise of protest crawls its way up her throat, but Poe just hushes her again and murmurs something in Yavinese against the bridge of her nose—a language she only knows a handful of words in, since it’s not like he has the _time_ to really teach her, but she does know this one: “ _Go to sleep, my girl_.”— and then he tucks her tighter into his side.

 

Rey tries to say something in response, presses her palm to his hip in attempt to—well, she doesn’t really know what she’d do, because everything goes dark as sleep completely overtakes her.

 

—

For a second the next morning, Rey worries that Sabé or Hardé might say something about her and Poe spending the night together, but other than BB-8 innocently asking where Designation: Master Poe was when they passed his room to pit it up on the way to breakfast, it doesn’t come up at all.

 

They eat a spread of local fruits and yogurt in the sunroom, watching the sun rise and reflect off the lake, before Sabé and Hardé leads them through the cottage, into one of the _other_ massive guest bedrooms, which boasts an equally massive closet full of more clothes than Rey has _ever_ seen.

 

And part of her wants to run away from all of it.

 

“What exactly is all this?” She asks, running her hand over the thick brocade of one of the long gowns hanging next to her.

 

Hardé presses a considering hand over her mouth as she shifts through a rack on the far wall that’s stuffed full of what Rey supposes passes for casual daywear on Naboo, “While we don’t know _when_ you’re going to meet Queen Ga’eer, we do want to make sure that you’re,” she breaks off, tilts her head and looks a little uncomfortable as she says, “Not to be offensive, but we want to make sure you don’t look _too_ much like a Jedi.”

 

Her brows furrow as she crosses her arms over her chest, more than a little defensively, and rocks back on her heels, “I didn’t know Jedi used to have a _look_.”

 

She’s only really met _one_ real Jedi, and—it’s not like Luke Skywalker wanted her to imitate his wardrobe choices, when he didn’t even really want her to learn from him at all.

 

“Sure,” she manages, eyes still wide as she takes it all in.

 

Hardé grabs a dress off the rack, frowns at it and puts it back, grabs another one, “Here, try this one.”

 

Taking it gently, and more than a little like she worries she’s going to ruin it by holding it too hard, Rey frowns at it, “What is this?”

 

“It’s _dress_.”

 

Rey rolls her eyes, because _yes_ , she lived in a desert, but also very much knows what a dress looks like, “That is a _lot_ of dress. How am I supposed to move in it? How am I supposed to _fight_ in it?”

 

“If my mother could help free the palace from the Trade Federation in a battle dress, ten tons of makeup, and one of the biggest headpieces in the royal collection, I think you, the most powerful Jedi in decades, can find a way to make it work. Plus, if _you_ have to fight, your Mister Dameron isn’t doing his job.”

 

“It’s not his _job_ to keep me from fighting, I can more than take care of myself.”

 

The look on Hardé’s face tells her she knows that, “But it’s nice to not have to.”

 

Rey can’t help but scowl as she strips down to her underwear, because there’s no way she’s _ever_ going to be able to avoid fighting, especially not as this fight against the First Order gets worse—because it will.

 

“That’s not the point,” she grumbles, shifts the dress around her body and turns toward one of the full-length mirrors hanging on the wall, and then looks down at her legs. “Is it supposed to be that short?”

 

“Well,” Hardé hums and walks around Rey in a slow circle that reminds her just a little too much of the other scavengers, back when they used to debate and try to determine if she was an easy enough target to rip off—or worse. “You’re a bit taller than we thought you’d be.”

 

“Is that going to be a problem?”

 

Hardé shakes her head, “No, I just have to make a couple calls,” she grabs another garment off the rack to her side and hands it to Rey. “Try this on too, I want to see how that color works on you.”

 

With that, she drifts off, and Rey looks across the room to where Poe is sitting with Sabé, talking about something—more than likely stories of her daring days as a Rebel spy in Imperial court—and though she’s very clearly wordlessly asking for a rescue, he just shrugs one shoulder and doesn’t swoop in— _traitor_.

 

“Oh sure,” she mutters to herself and pulls off the one dress before sliding into the next, this one a vibrant orange color that she’s _never_ seen outside the sands of Jakku, but like the first, it ends awkwardly above her ankles.

 

—

An hour later, a friend of Sabé’s arrives—a blonde-haired woman named Eirtaé, who turns out to be the only handmaiden to Queen Padmé Amidala, other than Sabé herself, that’s still living.

 

But unlike Sabé and Padmé, Eirtaé is about half a head taller, which may not help her back in the days when Padme needed a decoy, but it puts her closer to Rey’s own height, and the clothes she brings with her fit Rey enough that she looks much less like a gangly child playing dress-up in old costumes and more like someone who could make a convincing argument on behalf of the New Rebellion.

 

They finally settle on something that’s not too formal, the lightweight fabric in a deep red color that plays as a reminder of that Battle Dress from the final campaign against the Trade Federation and the infiltration that led to the freedom at Theed Palace from its illegal occupation. When Hardé finally finishes pinning the hem, Rey flees to the garden under the not-entirely-faked pretense of going through some meditation, finally settles on a spot on the wood dock that stretches out over the lake.

 

Dress fittings are exhausting, and kind of like going into battle.

 

“ _It is, if you look at it from a certain point of view._ ”

 

Rey smirks at the interruption—she felt a presence appear at her side that wasn’t anyone from the house or BB-8, but it wasn’t threatening, and she let it do whatever it needed to do before it decided to interact with her, just kept her focus on her breathing and connection to the Force.

 

“ _And you’re doing a very good job of it._ ”

 

She slowly opens her eyes, finds the ghostly visage of what must be a Jedi if the draped robes of off-white and brown are any indication.

 

And he looks like a Jedi who must have gone through _quite_ the ringer through what looks to be a very long life, if the lines on his face and world-weary slump to his shoulders are any indication.

 

Though, it’s not a Jedi she knows, because why would that one Jedi she’s ever met come and offer her counsel on his birth mother’s home world anyway?

 

So yes, this is a new one.

 

“Who are you?”

 

He hums, “ _A very good question_ , _little upstart_ ,” her brow ticks at the nickname and obvious lack of answer, but waits out his response as he resettles, rests his old, weathered hands on his bent knees in a mirror to hers where he sits to her side. “ _I was once many things, before I became one with the Force. A Jedi Knight, a Jedi Master, an old desert hermit, and the last Jedi to be cut down by the Emperor’s right hand, Darth Vader_.”

 

Racking her mind, it takes a minute to sift through all the stories she’s heard and the names Leia’s dropped—she’s been telling more and more stories lately, ever since they settled in at their base on Scarif, as if she’s come to realize through everything that the stories she knows from the life she lived are stories that more people should be aware of, especially if they don’t want to repeat past mistakes.

 

And then, when she thinks about why a Jedi who didn’t die here would be _here_ , on Naboo, it finally clicks.

 

“Master Kenobi.”

 

“ _A pleasure to meet you, Rey_ ,” Kenobi says, inclining his head. “ _Many of my order have spoken quite highly of you_.”

 

She snorts, “I assume Luke Skywalker is not one of them.”

 

“ _Master Luke has had, shall we say,_ other _things on his mind since he became one with the Force_.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

Kenobi stops looking at her sidelong, actually turns to meet her questioning gaze, “ _You don’t want to know. And that’s from_ every _point of view_.”

 

She snorts a laugh, “I didn’t think Jedi were supposed to be comedic.”

 

“ _Fortunately, I had my roguish good looks to fall back on_.”

 

Well, that certainly explains how Hardé came to be.

 

A creaking of footsteps on the old dock takes her attention away from Kenobi, and Rey glances over her shoulder to find Poe slowly walking up the dock, careful like he always approaches when she’s meditating. When she turns back to where Kenobi was sitting, the space next to her is as empty as it’s ever been, but his presence still echoes in the Force around her, which probably means he went inside.

 

Poe stops behind her, nudges his knee between her shoulders, “You holding up all right?”

 

Smiling up at him, she shrugs a shoulder, because she doesn’t actually know how to answer that, “Just catching up with a dead Jedi.”

 

“So, just like every other day?”

 

He takes it all in stride, or at least in stride enough, which Rey never knew she’d be so appreciative of.

 

“Pretty much,” she gestures to the open spot where Kenobi had been. “Sit with me?”

 

Poe cups his hand over her shoulder and uses her to balance on his way down—he grunts when something in his lower back must protest at him, and that’s what he gets for being a fighter pilot—and he settles with his legs hanging off the edge of the dock because his knees don’t bend all the way like Rey’s do. The hand on her shoulder slides down her arm and he wraps his fingers around her wrist, “Sabé and Hardé just got on a call with one of their contacts at the palace,” he says, and Rey looks at him with questions in her eyes. “I think we might be getting close to setting up an actual date with Queen Ga’eer.”

 

“So nice of her to fit me into her schedule,” she rolls her eyes, bumps back after Poe nudges his shoulder into hers. “I just want to actually _do_ something productive, you know? Not just sit and wear weird dresses and meditate at this ridiculous amount of water and ponder the _mysteries_ of the Force and how basically _none_ of the Jedi followed _any_ of the Old Jedi Order’s rules. _None of them_ , _Poe_.”

 

After hearing the stories and reading the texts she stole from Ahch-To, that _might_ be something getting on her nerves.

 

Laughter flows across the lake on a gust of wind, and Rey resists the urge to scowl.

 

“I want to get back to the fight as much as you do,” Poe agrees after a pondering hum. “But things like this are important too.”

 

Rey huffs, covers the fingers wrapped around her wrist with her other hand, drops her temple against his shoulder, “I know, I know,” she grumbles. “I just don’t think I’m built for diplomacy.”

 

“Hey,” he nudged her until she looks at him, brushes his mouth against her forehead. “All we need is one good day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, some more commentary:
> 
> 6\. Eirtaé was the random blonde handmaiden in TPM who…definitely never pretended to be Padmé’s decoy. Probably? Anyway, I still have a lot of feelings about Padmé and her handmaidens. Obviously.
> 
> Chapter four to come...tomorrow night! 
> 
> Number 187:  
> “Wait, you’re a superhero?”
> 
> “How do you not know? My face is literally on the news on a weekly basis.” 
> 
> “I’m in grad school. I won’t have time to follow popular media until I finish my thesis. You’re lucky I’ve carved out some of my non-existent free time to date you.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Be that as it may, I am not interested in kowtowing to every one of Leia Organa's demands, purely because she is and always will be a daughter of the Naboo," Queen Ga'eer intones. "Her call for support comes at a very precarious time in our galaxy, and considering our position at the edge of the Mid-Rim, I and my governors must determine if backing you is what is best for my people."
> 
> This time, Rey bristles visibly, "I didn't realize the galaxy's imminent danger required an explanation."
> 
> "Indeed it does," the queen makes a gesture, one that's borderline dismissive. "State your case, Jedi. Tell me why the Naboo should put its support in the Order that spawned Anakin Skywalker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, chapter four!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 191:   
> "You're-you're crushing my spleen." 
> 
> "You don't even know where your spleen is."

That one good day turns out to be a week later.

 

It’s a long week, a week of impatiently waiting and Rey meditating and Poe and BB-8 trying to distract her when she’s not, and keeping themselves occupied in the little village near the cottage so they’re not interrupting Sabé and Hardé’s lives any more than they already are.

 

Finally though, Hardé gets the call in the early morning.

 

The invitation comes from a girl she mentored some years ago and is now a member of Queen Ga’eer’s staff of handmaidens, and she tells them to travel to Threed as quickly as possible.

 

Before the queen has a chance to change her mind, they get their bags together and pile into one of the larger speeders, and it’s not long into the trip into town when Rey kind of just—

 

She shuts down.

 

It’s not something Poe’s seen her do often, but every once in a rare while, Rey will slip into an open-eyed meditation that is both helpful for her to stay in balance and _incredibly unnerving_ to everyone around her.

 

Poe likes to think he’s gotten used to it, but every time it happens, he’s reminded how much he’s _not_ and how much she _really_ is a Jedi.

 

Not that it’s _bad_ , but he doesn’t like the way she _goes away_ , even when she’s right there next to him.

 

It’s also more than a little weird to be in a moving vehicle that he’s _not_ piloting, but when he offered to take the controls, Hardé rolled her eyes at him and muttered something about _pilots_ that he’s pretty sure he’d rather not know about, so here he is, shoved up in the back of the speeder with BB-8 burbling on one side and a near-catatonic Rey on the other.

 

A touch of fingers on the back of his hand draws him away from his thoughts, but when Poe looks over, Rey is still staring wide-eyed out the window at the scenery that’s streaming by as Hardé pushes the speeder to its limits. Rey’s hand inches forward and covers his hand with hers, and he watches her wrap her fingers around his wrist, fingertips pressed up against the steady beat of his pulse.

 

He takes a slow breath, focuses on the breathing exercises his instructors taught him years ago at the academy—mostly tricks to keep calm while en-route to one death defying mission or another, or to keep it together while floating through the vastness of space while waiting for pickup in a disabled X-wing—and he covers her fingers with his palm, just in case she needs the extra grounding.

 

Rey’s finger twitches under his, and he looks down at their hands, but she’s not trying to pull away, just moves to resettle a little firmer against him, and when he looks back up at her face, Poe finds a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

 

So—she’ll be fine.

 

Not that he’s worried.

 

Much.

 

BB-8 bleeps at him, but Poe just hushes it and tells it that Rey will be okay, and BB-8 makes one more considering bleep—a little bit like it doesn’t believe him—but then it goes back to its conversation with Sabé about some of the antics R2-D2 got up to during the Clone Wars, probably getting all the dirt it can to pester the old droid with when it sees it again.

 

Rey finally comes out of her open-eyed meditation when they reach the palace, like she _knows_ that they’re there and that she needs to be at least somewhat functioning. As Hardé sets the speeder down in the courtyard, she slips her hand out of his and scrubs them both over her face, rolls her neck a couple times, popping some of the vertebra in her neck. They land not far from where a young woman wearing the Naboo’s traditional handmaiden’s hooded gown stands, hands clasped in front of her, as she waits for them.

 

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” the handmaiden says as she inclines her head toward Sabé and Hardé before turning her gaze to Rey, who stands and looks a little pale, but ready for what’s about to happen. “I apologize, Master Jedi, but the queen has delayed your meeting a few hours. It’s not unexpected, so we have some rooms set aside for you to wait in.”

 

Poe knows how much Rey has to swallow down the retort that she’s not remotely a _Jedi Master_ , and does she it well, nods once instead of saying anything to that, “We appreciate it.”

 

“I’m Padmé Naberrie-Jonar,” the handmaiden says as she leads them inside and takes them down one of the curved, open-air hallways. “My mother, Pooja Naberrie, is Leia Organa’s first cousin. They served in the Imperial Senate together before they discovered they were related. I’m very excited to meet you, Rey.”

 

Rey looks like she’s not so nervous that she can’t talk, but it’s definitely a near thing, “You too.”

 

They end up turning down a hall that leads to the interior of the building, and Padmé takes them to a room at the end around another corner, “Here you go,” she says as she pushes the doors open, revealing a large, airy set of rooms with windows that lets in _tons_ of golden sunlight. “I’d recommend you start getting ready now, Queen Ga’eer probably won’t give a lot of notice before she is ready.”

 

Padmé doesn’t quite come out and say it, but what she doesn’t say does give off the impression that, while not fickle, Queen Ga’eer very much enjoys things being done on _her_ terms, and her terms only.

 

“We’ll be ready when she is,” Poe says as Rey drifts over to one of the couches, props her elbows on her thighs and stares out the window to the vista below the cliffs the palace was built on. “Thank you for helping us.”

 

“Leia is family, and she has many supporters here, including people like my mother,” she smiles and steps back toward the doors. “I’ll check in with the queen, and have something brought up for you to eat while you wait.”

 

The food arrives before an update from Padmé does, so Poe figures they have some time left until Queen Ga’eer decides she’s ready to see them. Rey’s still sitting, and has shifted a little bit back into that near-catatonic state, and Poe grabs a plate and puts a few pieces of fruit on it, pours a cup of juice and sits next to her, gently nudges her with his elbow.

 

“Hmm?”

 

He presses his elbow against hers, keeps it there, “You should eat something.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” she says, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

 

Not surprised, Poe puts the plate aside, grabs her hand and wraps it around the cup, “Doesn’t matter, you still need to,” he takes the cup and holds it under her chin, but then lets go, lets her hold it up by herself. “Drink that.”

 

“I don’t take orders from you,” she grumbles, but does take a small sip.

 

He smirks, “Keep drinking that.”

 

While she does, BB-8 rolls over, its head rolling from one side of its body to the other while it evaluates her the same way it evaluates Poe whenever they get back from a mission, [Designation: Classified Friend Rey requires a recalibration of her blood-sugar levels. BB-8 recommends that you consume something more substantial than juice.”

 

“Of course you do,” Rey rolls her eyes at Poe, but he just shrugs at her. “I’ll try for you, BB-8.”

 

BB-8 bleeps and turns, grabs the plate with its pincer and places it on her knees, [Designation: Classified Friend Rey needs as much energy as she can get for her meeting with Designation: Queen Ga’eer of the Naboo.]

 

“Yes she does,” Poe agrees, chuckling when Rey elbows him.

 

“ _Traitors_.”

 

Once Rey gets some food down, though less than Poe would like, Sabé comes over, “We should get you changed,” she says, holds a hand out for Rey to take. “Are you ready?”

 

The look on her face says no, but Rey squares her shoulders and takes Sabé’s hand anyway, lets her pull her up and lead her into one of the bedrooms where Hardé left her clothes.

 

He’s _really_ proud of her.

 

Poe picks at the rest of the food while he waits for Rey to change, can hear the echoes of a couple of curses, followed by laughter and a couple muffled, but pointed comments from Hardé.

 

When she comes back out, she looks beautiful despite her scowl, wearing a draped jacket that’s belted tight around her waist and loose pants that are of various shades of deep red. Poe just grins at her as she crosses the room and sits on one of the low stools, lets Sabé take her hair down from the three buns she usually wears and starts running a comb through it.

 

“Oh, right,” he says when he remembers the package Leia gave him when she first gave him the details of the mission, and he goes for his bag, rifles through it and pulls out the cloth-wrapped bundle. “Leia wanted you to have this for today, to wear as a reminder for everyone.”

 

Rey reaches for it, but scowls when she realizes her hands are shaking, so she curls them into fists and presses them into her lap as Sabé walks around her and takes it from him instead.

 

When she peels the cloth back, her eyes go wide, “Is this-”

 

“Yeah,” Poe nods. “Leia told me that Padmé was wearing it in the Senate the day it voted to give Imperial powers to Palpatine, right before she died,” he glowers at the thought of that day, decades before he was even born. “People say it’s what inspired the Rebel insignia.”

 

“I remember this,” she marvels as she lifts a curved, almost circular hairpiece off the cloth, which Poe takes back from her and stuffs back into his bag. “This was a gift from her mother,” she looks at Rey, eyes a little misty. “You’d honor Padme if you wore this today.”

 

It looks like it takes a lot of effort to nod, but Rey manages it, and Sabé pulls her back by the shoulder so she can twist her hair into an intricate bun. Rey still looks a little pale, so Poe pushes off the couch and rounds the low table between them, drops to a knee in front of her and takes her hands. He urges her nails out of the flesh of her palms and holds them carefully, because the last thing she needs is to face down the queen with bandages everywhere.

 

While Sabé draws Hardé into a quiet debate about the best way to style Rey’s hair around the crescent-shaped piece, Poe rubs his thumbs over the backs of Rey’s fingers, keeps his eyes on her and focus on getting her a little warmer and maybe a little distracted.

 

Finally, Hardé helps Sabé secure the hairpiece with the little metal pin that slots through the underside, most of it hidden by Rey’s hair, and when Sabé tilts Rey’s head back a little to make sure the sides are even, Poe shifts too, so he can keep her eyes on him, “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, only for her, even if there are two people standing at her back.

 

Squeezing his hands back in response, Rey swallows hard and nods, “I can do this.”

 

“Of course you can,” Sabé and Hardé step away, and Poe drops one of Rey’s hands, tucks his fingers under her chin and tilts her head a little, so he can see the way the hairpiece sits on the back of her head, almost like a halo. “How’s that feel?”

 

“It’s a bit heavy,” she admits, squeezing her fingers tight around the hand he’s still holding.

 

Squeezing back, he smiles and runs the back of his other hand over her cheek, brushes a stray hair or two that’s too short for the bun behind her ear, “I’ll help you shoulder it.”

 

There are more things he wants to tell her, words that stick in the back of his throat and are pretty much on the tip of his tongue every time he sets eyes on her.

 

Right now though—

 

They don’t have time.

 

Soon though, he’ll tell her soon.

 

—

Padmé returns an hour later, and when she sees Rey, her eyes go wide, “If I didn’t know better,” she says, her already quiet voice title more than a shaky whisper. “I’d say you could be a member of my family.”

 

She tilts her head, considering, and through the way Rey holds herself completely still, Poe knows it’s not a way she particularly likes, “You’re not,” Padmé asks carefully. “Are you?”

 

A scowl flickers across her face, and Poe knows she’s trying not to think about the things Kylo Ren said to her when he tried to convince her to join him and subjugate the karking galaxy—all things they talked about in the cover of ship’s darkness, on those seemingly endless days crammed to the gills on the Falcon, trying to regain their footing as the New Rebellion.

 

“It’s highly unlikely,” she says carefully, and Poe squeezes her hand, runs his thumb over the inside of her wrist until her hammering pulse eases.

 

Padmé’s smile goes a little wider, and she nods once, “Are you ready? I’ve finally been asked to bring you down to the throne room.”

 

The way she says _finally_ gets Rey to crack a grin, and Poe will be forever thankful for her efforts to lighten the mood.

 

But before they leave the room, Sabé steps in front of Rey and takes her hands, squeezes tight, and with more strength than a woman her age should be capable of, “No one in this room doubts that you can do this,” she says with a smile. “In my lifetime, I’ve seen Jedi perform what people may call miracles, but we don’t need a miracle from you today. Just remind Queen Ga’eer what we’re really fighting for, and what our enemy truly is.”

 

He sees another lump form in her throat, and Rey swallows hard against it, but since the last thing any one of them wants is to make the queen angry for keeping her wait, so Rey nods once, and squeezes Sabé’s hand in response—though what response, they’ll probably never know—before she steps away, follows Padmé out of the room.

 

The walk through the halls is quicker than any of them would like, and before they reach the throne room, Poe catches up to her and cups a hand over her shoulder, rubs his thumb up and down her arm, quick. As they reach the last corner, Poe brushes his fingertips over the curved piece of metal in her hair before he steps back, slips off into the shadows just inside the entrance to the crowded throne room—and the crowd is no mistake, everyone here was _asked_ to be here to watch Rey make her case—with BB-8 and Sabé and Hardé, leaving Rey on her own for Padmé to present to the Queen Ga’eer.

 

Rey stops a half-step behind Padmé’s shoulder, hands clasped at her back as they wait for the Queen and governors to emerge from the office at the other side of the room.

 

Finally, the doors open and three handmaidens wearing the same pale green gown as Padmé emerge and position themselves on either side of the throne, followed by a handful of older men and women—the council of governors—who stop in a small cluster to the right of the throne.

 

And then there’s Queen Ga’eer herself, face painted in Naboo’s traditional white and red, and a giant feathered headdress perched on the top of her head.

 

Poe knows she’s young—according to her dossier, she’s only seventeen—but without knowing, really it’s hard to tell under all the makeup. Poe glances at Sabé out of the corner of his eye, and even though there are some marked differences between her facial features and that of Queen Amidala, back when they were the same age, he can see why it makes the decoy switch all the easier.

 

Queen Ga’eer settles on the throne, rests her hands on either side of it as she tilts her head ever so slightly, a cue for Padmé.

 

Bowing her head, Padmé takes another step toward the center of the room, “Your Highness, may I present the Master Jedi Rey,” Poe sees her bristle ever so slightly, and his heart lodges up in his throat, but fortunately, she doesn’t respond any more than that. “Chosen representative of General Leia Organa of the New Rebellion.”

 

“Very well,” she says, even, and gestures for Padmé to move off to the side, and Queen Ga’eer waits for take her place next to the throne with her fellow handmaidens before she speaks again. “So, you are the last Jedi.”

 

“I won’t be last for long,” Rey says, sure and clear of any of the nerves she was showing earlier, when there weren’t hundreds of considering eyes pressing down on her.

 

Queen Ga’eer looks neither convinced nor impressed.

 

“Be that as it may, I am not interested in kowtowing to every one of Leia Organa’s demands, purely because she is and always will be a daughter of the Naboo,” she intones. “Her call for support comes at a very precarious time in our galaxy, and considering our position at the edge of the Mid-Rim, I and my governors must determine if backing you is what is best for my people.”

 

This time, Rey bristles visibly, “I didn’t realize the galaxy’s imminent danger required an explanation.”

 

“Indeed it does,” the queen makes a gesture, one that’s borderline dismissive. “State your case, Jedi. Tell me why the Naboo should put its support in the Order that spawned Anakin Skywalker.”

 

She spits the name like a curse, and around here, it probably is.

 

With his heart firmly lodged in his throat, Poe watches Rey square her shoulders and take a step forward, and then another, until she’s standing in the exact center of the throne room.

 

“I understand how important Padmé Amidala is to the Naboo, but my name is not Anakin Skywalker, and I did not kill your queen.”

 

Rey pauses, probably for emphasis of that _really_ important point, and then continues, “This isn’t a debate on whether or not the Naboo should put its support in the Jedi. As it stands, the Jedi Order is me, and I am a Rebel.”

 

It’s the first time Rey’s called herself either a Jedi or a Rebel, and that’s a _lot_. Poe blinks hard, tries to stay impassive, but he jolts when Hardé touches the back of her hand to his wrist.

 

Out of the corner of his eye—there’s no way he’s going to look away from Rey right now—he sees Hardé smiling, and he nudges her back.

 

“You must decide if you are going to take a stand against the guaranteed destruction of the galaxy at the hands of the First Order and support those that are fighting on the front lines to stop them. I have seen first-hand exactly what they are capable of, and they will stop at _nothing_ until each and every world falls to their will, with no guarantee that anyone who chooses to stand by in neutrality will be spared. They take children and turn them into cannon fodder, and on a world like Naboo, as far out on the Mid-Rim as you are, there is nothing that will protect you from having that happen here, not with the way they utterly destroyed the New Republic government and the Hosnia system. The First Order will ravage this world for all of its resources without a second thought.”

 

Rey stops for a second, takes a breath, but looks nothing but calm, almost regal in the face of Queen Ga’eer’s impassivity, “Imperial flags flew in the skies of this world for decades at the behest of the Emperor, and I can’t imagine how much your people would appreciate yet another puppet ruler installed into your monarchy. Deep down, Queen Kylantha may have been something of a Rebel sympathizer, but do you really want to try your hand and see if you’re going to get that lucky a second time?”

 

“And yet it was the fault and the failure of the Jedi that ultimately led to the Emperor We Shall Not Name and the rise of his Empire, the Empire that even you agree Queen Kylantha fought against.”

 

Rey nods once, a concession, which someone with an ego like Queen Ga’eer probably needs, “There will be Force users as strong as I am whether you support the New Rebellion or not. The Force does not belong to the Jedi. All beings who live in this galaxy have some connection to the Force, whether they know they can use it or not. You can blame the Jedi order for failing and falling all you like, but you must understand that I am not coming to you as a Jedi. I am a Rebel, and Padmé Amidala of the Naboo was one of the first Rebels in the history of the Rebellion. If you really want to honor her memory, you will make the right choice and stand behind General Organa.”

 

“Very well,” Queen Ga’eer says after a moment. “The governors and I will confer and make the final determination.

 

She doesn’t give a timeframe, and Rey doesn’t ask for one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you loved it let me know! I appreciate each and everyone one of you!
> 
> Final chapter (which is double-length) to come tomorrow night! Happy Valentine's Day eve!
> 
> And now, some more commentary:
> 
> 7\. While doing probably way too much research than would be considered necessary for this fic, I looked up Pooja Naberrie’s Wookieepedia page and dude, the comics drew her kinda hot. Anyway. Playing a little fast and loose with timelines, but let’s just assume that Padmé Naberrie-Jonar is a couple years older than the current queen, or something.
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 191:   
> "You're-you're crushing my spleen." 
> 
> "You don't even know where your spleen is."


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence falls around their table-even BB-8 pauses from where its inspecting the features of some of the more ornate furniture in the room to look over-before Sabé finally makes a sound that's somewhere between a sad scoff and a laugh, "Oh Padmé, I should have known."
> 
> Poe frowns-because she's definitely not talking about Padmé the handmaiden-but he doesn't let Rey go, squeezes her wrist in gentle reassurance as he asks, "What do you mean?"
> 
> Instead of Sabé, Hardé answers, props her elbows on the table as she leans forward a bit, "My father always told me that the Force works in whatever ways we may need it to," she looks at her mother. "Am I right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it to the end! I can't believe a 12,000 word first draft turned into...this monster! Thanks thanks thanks for being a part of the ride with me! Happy Valentine's Day to each and everyone of you!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 193:  
> “What is that THING in your backpack?” 
> 
> “It’s my new pet dragon.” 
> 
> “Dragons aren’t real!” 
> 
> “Then why is there one in my backpack?”

Without another word, Queen Ga’eer stands and sweeps out of the throne room, her handmaidens at her heels and the governors behind them. One her way out, Padmé flashes a brief smile and flicks her fingers in Rey’s direction, and Poe can only hope that that’s a good sign.

 

When the door shuts behind her, Rey turns on a heel and heads back the way they came in, and Poe, BB-8, Hardé and Sabé slip out after her.

 

Once clear of the crowds streaming out the doors and headed into the private areas of the palace that they’ve been granted access to—Poe know much of that has to do with Sabé and her history with just about everyone in this building—including the young grandson of the head of security in the days when she was a handmaiden—and he’s sure as hells not going to look this gift-bantha in the mouth.

 

When he’s sure the nosy couriers are behind them, Poe grabs Rey’s hand and twines his fingers around hers, because he _has_ to, and it’s the only thing he can do, since what he really wants to do is press her up against one of these ornately decorated walls and kiss her until she keens.

 

But that probably wouldn’t go over well.

 

Sabé and Hardé lead them back to the suite, but the mother-daughter pair stops just outside the doors, “We’ll see if we can get any information for you, but I think it bodes well,” Hardé says with a smile as she pulls one of the doors open for them. “You did an amazing job, Rey.”

 

Still a little stone-faced, Rey nods once as she slips her hand out of Poe’s and he absolutely does _not_ feel bereft, because that would just be ridiculous, “Thank you.”

 

Sabé looks down at the little orange droid rocking back and forth in the middle of the little circle they’re making in the middle of the hallway, “Come on, BB-8,” she winks conspiratorially. “Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get up to before someone alerts palace security.”

 

[Agent Designation: The Decoy, it would be BB-8’s honor!]

 

Poe shakes his head, looks fondly down at his little droid, “Be good, buddy.”

 

With a toodling bleep, BB-8 and Sabé head back the way they came, but before Poe can follow Rey inside their suite, Hardé meets his eye and smirks, “We’ll be back soon,” she says, pointed, and for a moment it’s like talking to another Leia, and something pangs through his chest in the hope that they’re going to have something _good_ to report to her. “Just so you know.”

 

He doesn’t dignify her warning with a response other than a snort, just slips into the suite and shuts the door, eyes scanning across the room for Rey. Her finds her standing by the expansive windows, a relieved smile playing on her lips as expressivity returns to her face.

 

Now that they’re finally, finally alone again, something in him snaps, and the scant amount of space between them is just way too much. He crosses over to her in three quick strides and draws her in with a hand around the back of her neck, kisses her like he’s wanted to since she first stepped into the center of the throne room and called herself a Rebel.

 

For a heartbeat she’s still frozen against him, and then something breaks in her and she _reacts_ , hands up by his ears anchoring him to her, her mouth soft and yielding under his as she twists her fingers into his hair. She whines against him when he nibbles on her lower lip, swipes her tongue against his as she fights for some control of the kiss, which he happily gives to her.

 

When the need to breathe manages to overrule his powerful desire to keep kissing her, Poe pulls back, but Rey doesn’t let him go far, not with the way her small but powerful hands have twisted into the front of his jacket in a way that means Hardé’s probably going to wordlessly judge him for looking so rumpled later, but it doesn’t kriffing matter, not with this amazing woman in his arms. Poe nudges his nose against hers, brushes his lips against her parted mouth once more, quick, and then again because he really can’t get enough of her.

 

“That,” he rasps, kisses her again. “Was the most amazing thing I’ve ever fucking seen,” he brushes his mouth against hers again, because there’s really no possible way he’s _ever_ going to get enough of her.

 

Not with the feats of brilliance she keeps pulling out of her back pocket _like it’s nothing_.

 

Rey is going to save the galaxy, and he can’t wait to help her do it.

 

“Are you sure?” Rey’s bright-eyed and breathless, and she uses her grip on his jacket to pull him in for another kiss, and then finally releases her right hand from the white-knuckled grip so she can trace her finger down the line of his jaw, and then whispers against his mouth, “Because I remember what you looked like on Crait when I moved those rocks.”

 

The hand Poe has on her waist smooths up and down her ribs, and he touches his forehead to hers, “Doesn’t hold a kriffing candle to it,” he swipes a kiss over the bridge of her nose. “You’re so fucking amazing Rey. That was amazing.”

 

“Do you think it was enough?”

 

He kisses her again, “If that doesn’t do it, I don’t think anything will. Either way, I am so fucking proud of you.”

 

—

They don’t _actually_ have sex in Theed palace, but it’s a near thing.

 

There’s just not enough time.

 

—

Sabé and Hardé return an hour later with smiles on their faces—tinged with more than a little amusement, but really, they _didn’t have time to get up to much_ —and no news, but good impressions and a lot of hope.

 

And also, enough food to constitute an early dinner, which is good, because now that Rey’s not anxious anymore, she’s finally hungry, and Poe knows full well that when she wants to eat, she can out-eat just about anyone, including the Rebellion’s biggest enforcers.

 

It’s _awesome_.

 

They gather around the little dining table and dig in, and Poe lets Hardé and Sabé’s conversation wash over him as he keeps half an eye on Rey, but eventually, the conversation turns back to the meeting in the throne room.

 

“You impressed her.”

 

Rey frowns, swallows a bite and then clears her throat, “I did? I could have sworn she was about to have me removed from the palace.”

 

“That’s just how her face works,” Sabé says around a laugh. “She’s stubborn and a little standoffish, but a good, strong leader, which we’ve sorely lacked in the last few decades. Since Padmé, honestly. It’s taken a lot to get back to where we were before the Emperor came into power.”

 

“Honestly,” Hardé says in agreement before she sips at her tea. “I just never thought to bring Kylantha into the argument.”

 

“That’s because you never liked how she never _actually_ committed to the Rebellion,” Sabé says, a pointed reminder.

 

Hardé waves a dismissive hand, “That’s not the point,” she snorts, and then looks back at Rey with that wide grin. “Either way, it was fantastic. What made you even think of using that?”

 

When Rey doesn’t answer, just blinks her wide eyes and looks down at her hands, Poe reaches out, wraps his fingers around her wrist and shakes her gently, “You all right, scavenger girl?”

 

Finally, she clears her throat, drops her fork and grabs her mug of tea so Poe doesn’t have to let go of her hand, and she takes a long sip before she mutters in a rush, “I don’t actually know who that is.”

 

“What?”

 

Taking another sip of tea, she shrugs and repeats, “That Kylantha woman. I don’t know who that is.”

 

Silence falls around their table—even BB-8 pauses from where its inspecting the features of some of the more ornate furniture in the room to look over—before Sabé finally makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sad scoff and a laugh, “Oh Padmé, I should have known.”

 

Poe frowns—because she’s definitely _not_ talking about Padmé the _handmaiden_ —but he doesn’t let Rey go, squeezes her wrist in gentle reassurance as he asks, “What do you mean?”

 

Instead of Sabé, Hardé answers, props her elbows on the table as she leans forward a bit, “My father always told me that the Force works in whatever ways we may need it to,” she looks at her mother. “Am I right?”

 

Right.

 

Her father.

 

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

 

Who didn’t actually _know_ he was a father until _after_ he died, if Sabé’s stories are anything to go by.

 

Sometimes, Poe wonders what all this must have been like for Sabé and Hardé, who lived in a world where this is all _normal_ for them and every time you turned around, there was another Jedi just hanging out, waiting to save the galaxy.

 

Or whatever it was they did back then before the order was destroyed by Darth Vader.

 

Sabé nods, and then turns back to Rey, an eyebrow arched in question, and Rey just shrugs, “I started hearing someone whispering to me, on our ride over,” she says down to her plate, eyes half closed as she thinks, and she runs the fingertips of her free hand over the rim of her teacup. “It was a woman, and she kept whispering, and I kept talking. And I don’t really know a lot of what I said back there.”

 

That silence returns, and Poe finally shakes his head, “Maybe we shouldn’t ask, and should just be thankful that, whatever happened, it _worked_.”

 

Well, probably.

 

Sabé and Hardé share an amused look, “I think we can do that.”

 

—

An hour after that—an hour spent lazing around their suite just _waiting_ with as much patience as they can muster—with Rey sitting by the window and meditating, Sabé reading an old book that’s actually scrip-bound and Hardé studying a piece of artwork on the walls while Poe surfs the Holonet on his datapad, there’s finally a knock on the door before Padmé slips back in.

 

And she’s _smiling_.

 

“Queen Ga’eer has come to a decision,” she says in a rush. “She would like to see you.”

 

This time, when they enter the throne room, it’s empty of the courtiers and visitors and guests and governors, just Queen Ga’eer perched delicately on her throne, three of her four handmaidens standing behind her.

 

And also this time, Poe and Sabé and Hardé step to the center of the room with Rey, stop just behind her as she and Padmé take the last few steps, “Your Highness,” Padmé inclines her head and then takes one step to the side, so she’s not standing directly with them.

 

Queen Ga’eer nods, “Thank you for waiting,” she intones, her voice just slightly off from the commanding, emotionless quality she used when she was in front of the crowd. “I have to say, Jedi, you did offer a convincing argument. It made a point to some of the governors who were hoping you would sway me toward neutrality.”

 

That has to be a good sign.

 

Poe prays to whatever entities that are listening that it _is_ a good sign.

 

“And what have you decided?”

 

“That,” the queen leans forward a little. “As much as the Jedi have previously impacted and continue impact this fight, be it you or the First Order’s Supreme Leader and his Knights of Ren, this ultimately is a greater concern of the wellbeing of all those who wish to live in this galaxy in peace. That said, the Naboo are willing to offer its support to General Organa and the New Rebellion, and we formally request you take every available effort toward stopping the First Order.”

 

With farking pleasure.

 

It’s incredibly difficult to not break out into relieved laughter, but somehow Poe manages to keep his reaction to a smile, and while Queen Ga’eer doesn’t look as happy about things as he feels, she is a lot more—open is the best way to call it.

 

“And considering Padmé’s,” she tilts her head in Padmé’s direction, and suddenly does look a lot more like a seventeen-year-old wearing a heaping helping of face paint. “Relationship to General Organa, she has agreed to act as the Naboo’s liaison to the New Rebellion. You’ll work with her and she’ll report directly to me.”

 

The small smile on Padmé’s face grows, and Rey nods, “That will work. General Organa gave us a list of requested requisitions, in the event that you accepted our offer. We’ll transmit it to Padmé when we return to Varykino.”

 

“We’ll see what arrangements can be made,” Queen Ga’eer says. “If you like, you’re more than welcome to stay the night in Theed, and head back to Lake Country in the morning.”

 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Rey says diplomatically, and for a second, Poe wonders if she’s being possessed by the Force ghost of Padmé Amidala again, and then he starts wondering if that’s even how any of this works, and then he remembers that he should probably pay more attention to this conversation. “But we should get be getting back to Varykino. We need report this to General Organa as quickly as possible.”

 

“I understand. Safe travels to you both.”

 

Their exit from the throne room, the second that day, is much easier than the first, much lighter.

 

They have their answer, the Rebellion has its support.

 

They did what they came to do.

 

—

While the day may not have been long in the sense that there was _so much_ to do—they’ve certainly had longer days on base with the New Rebellion, between training and patrols and repairs and scraping a fleet of star fighters out of nothing, the least of which being the standard day from hell when they left D’Qar, fought the First Order nearly to death on Crait, and then escaped in the Millennium Falcon—but with so much of her focus spent on the one pivotal moment that was the whole reason why they came to Naboo, Rey is exhausted to the point that she can barely keep her eyes open by the time they get back to Varykino.

 

“Come on, scavenger girl,” Poe draws her out of a pleasant does and helps her down from the speeder, and vaguely, she notes that the sky is going a little bit purple above them as the sun sets. They made good time, and it’s still early in the evening, but Rey is just _so_ beyond done. “It’s off to bed with you.”

 

She mumbles something to him that may be an agreement, but may have been something along the lines of trying to remind him that they should probably get word to Leia of their good news.

 

Rey really can’t be sure though, especially not with the way the side of her face is mashed into Poe’s shoulder as he helps her up the front steps and into the house. Her eyes are half shut as he guides her by the arm she has looped around his waist, while his is up by her shoulders, and that’s what is doing the most to actually keep her upright.

 

They bid Sabé and Hardé good night, though it’s really more Poe than Rey who’s doing any of the conversing, not that it matters, because they’ve all been here before, so exhausted that it’s nearly impossible to do even so much as stand and be a real, communicative adult.

 

Guiding her through the hall, Poe stops by the room he hasn’t actually spent a night in, drops BB-8 off and grabs his sleep clothes from the foot of his bed before they make the short trip down the hall to Rey’s.

 

Poe helps her to the bed, lifts her up just enough that she can climb the fluffy mountain of bedding, and she kind of just— _flops_ onto her side on the pillows. He chuckles and she grunts at him in response, a truly eloquent conversation, and she sighs when she feels his hands on her, going for the tie at her side that’s keeping her now-rumpled jacket in place. Rey lays there, more than a little boneless, as Poe peels back layer after layer until she’s naked, and then he rolls her on top of one of the longer pillows, moves her arms until she settles with them wrapped around it.

 

With a sigh, Rey shuts her eyes and arches her back a little as Poe runs his broad, warm palm down her spine, grunts when he moves away and blindly reaches out for him, “Give me a second, scavenger girl,” Poe laughs quietly, but comes back and tangles her fingers with his.

 

He kisses her knuckles before tucking her hand back under the pillow, leans in and nuzzles against her hairline. He presses his mouth to what she knows is that line of freckles at the back of her neck that he loves so much, “I’ll be right back, just relax, I’ll take care of you.”

 

Rey makes another sound, this one slightly more agreeable, but still one she hopes that implies that he should do whatever he’s doing faster.

 

Message received, Poe chuckles and drapes the throw blanket at the foot of the bed over her feet, and then his footsteps fade a little. Clothing rustles and shifts and falls, and Rey knows he’s getting changed, which is one of her favorite things to watch, but she _really_ can’t bring herself to open her eyes, let alone lift her head off the warm, soft pillow.

 

Part of her wonders if Sabé and Hardé would miss a pillow or two if she _accidentally_ packs them in her back to take back to base.

 

It’s not like they don’t have an _obscene_ amount.

 

Really, who needs to own _this many_ pillows?

 

The brush of fingertips on the small of her back draws her away from her distracted musings and makes her shiver, and Rey hums low in the back of her throat as Poe climbs onto the bed, swings one leg over both of hers and settles just enough of his weight on her butt that she sinks deeper into the mattress.

 

He sweeps his palms up and down her back a couple times, warming her skin as his calluses trip over the scars scattered below her shoulders from a couple bad scavenges when she was a kid, before he sets the sides of his hands on either side of her spine, shifts forward on his knees a bit and carefully pushes down.

 

The sound her back makes under the pressure of his hands is _loud_ , all the tension and pressure releasing through the gasses in her joints, and the next breath Rey takes is _much_ easier than the last. Poe shifts his hands a little lower and presses in and up again, drawing the same satisfying noise from her mid-back, and then she whines when he sets his thumbs into her lower back, presses down toward her hipbones before he drags them up to the nape of her neck.

 

Another appreciative noise sounds from her throat when Poe sweeps his thumbs under her scapulae, like he’s lifting them off her back to get at the knots there in the _best_ way, before he settles his fingers into the sides of her neck and presses in, over and over until she shivers and turns into jelly under his hands. It’s almost impossible for her mouth to form words, especially with the way Poe keeps up the gentle pressure over that spot on her nape that protests the most when she’s exhausted, so she sighs and arches her back up into him as whatever gathered there just _releases_.

 

Poe massages her upper back for a while longer before he settles more of his weight and his chest against her back, props his elbows over her shoulders and kisses the side of her head, “How’s that?” He bends an elbow and runs a hand over her hair, brushes it off the back of her bright red neck. “Can I get you anything?”

 

“Just you,” she mumbles into the pillow, bends her elbow back so she can run her tingling fingers over the curls at the side of his head, kind of misses until Poe snags her hand and guides it where she was trying to aim. “You are so the _best_. C’mere.”

 

He plants another kiss against the side of her neck, nuzzles until she shivers, “I am right here.”

 

“Y’know what I mean,” she slurs into the pillow, but lets him manhandle her under the blankets anyway.

 

When he slips in behind her, Rey snuggles back up to his chest, tucks a foot between his ankles, “Why are you still wearing pants?” She mumbles, halfheartedly paws back at his hip.

 

Chuckling, Poe grabs her hand and puts it back down on the mattress in front of her, nuzzles the back of her head as he strokes his palm over the expanse of her stomach and up between her breasts, then slips back down so he can circle his fingertips around her bellybutton, “Thought you were falling asleep, scavenger girl.”

 

She pushes hack into the cradle of his hips, where he’s going hard against her, “I’m not _that_ tired.”

 

Poe hums, debating, but eventually shifts and nudges her foot out from between his, slips a hand over her thigh and drapes it back over his leg, “Okay, okay,” he laughs against the back of her neck, strokes his fingers over the crease where her leg meets her hip for a second before he fists his hand into his pants and shoves them down his legs as far as they’ll go with how Rey’s tangled around him. He manages to get one of the cotton legs off his foot, which is good enough to let him move the way he needs, “Sure, you are the _most_ awake.”

 

“Damn straight.”

 

Pawing at her hip again, Poe teases his fingers over the delicate skin of her inner thigh and pulls at her leg, spreading her wider. He sucks a mark into the spot behind her ear that makes her whine and dips his fingers between her thighs, finds her warm and slick and wanting, “Hey,” he breaks away from her skin, ignores the way she whines at him, and she feels him lift onto his elbow. “Are your eyes even open?”

 

They were _not_ , but that’s beside the point.

 

Rey forces her eyes open and angles her head back to meet his amused gaze with a scowl of her own, “This is me, still awake.”

 

With a laugh, Poe leans in and kisses the side of her mouth, “Just wanted to make sure you were still with me, scavenger girl.”

 

Tangling her hand in his hair, Rey keeps Poe where he is and cranes her neck so she can actually kiss him the way she wants to, whines into his mouth when he slips two fingers inside her, crooks them gently and spreads her open wider as his hardness presses against the small of her back.

 

“ _Poe_ ,” she shifts her leg higher—perks of Jedi flexibility. “I’m right here and I want you in me.”

 

“I _am_ inside you,” he teases, brushes his thumb against her clit.

 

A growl escapes her throat as she digs one hand into the blankets and wraps the other around his wrist, tugging him away from her, “ _Damn it,_ come on,” she hisses and shifts her hips against him, moves until she frees his hardness from off her back and feels his head bump between her legs.

 

Poe rubs gentle circles over her clit with two fingers as he slides into her, but with the angle and the way they’re lying against each other, it’s more of a slow, sensuous grind than the leverage they get for the usual thrusting. Rey’s breath hitches at the sensations that crash over her, Poe hard and thick inside her, mouth on her neck as one hand toys with her breast and the other presses flat to her stomach, anchoring her against him until finally, everything goes hot and tight and blanking out as she grits her teeth and crests over the edge of her orgasm with a whine.

 

When she comes back to herself, it’s to the grind of Poe thrusting into her once, twice, and then a third time before he spends himself, murmuring her name against her sweaty hair as he hauls her tight against his chest, mashes his face into that spot between her neck and shoulder.

 

She whines when he slips out of her and resettles her leg off his hip, but she settles deeper into his arms as he rolls them over so she’s half on her stomach and he’s lying against her back. The logical side of Rey’s brain knows they’re going to have to move at some point and get cleaned up, but there is absolutely no part of her willing to expend the effort at this point.

 

“Hey, Rey,” the way Poe murmurs sleepily against her neck reverberates down into her chest, draws her back from the gentle doze she slipped into. “Y’still awake over there?”

 

She hums low in her throat, tangles her fingers with his hand tucks their clasped hands between her breasts, squirms a little when Poe runs his fingers through the slick of the sweat gathered on her skin, “Yeah, ‘m awake.”

 

Mostly.

 

Awake enough.

 

He presses his mouth against what’s probably a mark behind her ear, “I love you.”

 

Something warm blooms in her chest at the words and she squeezes his fingers, “I know.”

 

Poe snorts into her skin, holds her tighter when she tries to wiggle away from him, “Come on, scavenger girl,” he rasps in a near whine, sounds like he’s putting every ounce of effort he doesn’t have into this conversation.

 

He’s _so_ worn out.

 

And yeah—

 

Tugging at his hand, she lifts it higher and brushes her mouth against his fingertips, settles in and pushes her cheek against his knuckles as she starts drift back off, “I love you too, Poe.”

 

—

Their transport—the first of many they’ll take on their way back to their pickup location a few systems out from Scarif—takes off the next evening from one of the smaller space ports on the outskirts of the Lake District.

 

Still, leaving Naboo is not going to be easy for either of them.

 

It’s so peaceful here, feels like it’s truly untouched by this war.

 

But Rey and Poe both know that the only way to _preserve_ the feeling is to go back to base and keep righting.

 

Sabé and Hardé already did their time, now it’s their turn to ensure that the galaxy is safe for them to live out the rest of their lives.

 

“So,” Sabé says the next morning after they have BB-8 send a message to Leia—the message they probably should have sent last night, had they not been so tired and _otherwise occupied._ She’s slicing a piece of fruit into careful, even cubes that speak to years of expertise with a knife for reasons _other_ than cooking, “Is there anything you two would like to do before you leave for the spaceport?”

 

Rey glances at Poe from the side, a slow grin crossing her face, “Well,” she drawls and takes his hand, tangles her fingers with his and drags her thumb down along his palm. “There’s one thing we should probably do before we leave. If _you’re_ up for it.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Looking down at their hands, Rey bites her lip around a smile, and then looks him in the eye, “Yeah.”

 

—

**Coda**

“You had one job Poe. _One_.”

 

“Actually, I had about three,” Poe winces at the searing glare Leia shoots him and rushes to add, “Before you yell at me, can I just point out that this was predominantly Rey’s idea?”

 

Rey’s idea that he had absolutely _zero_ problem going along with, _obviously,_ but that’s probably not something he should point out, especially if they’re in as much trouble as he thinks they are.

 

At least, he _thinks_ they’re in trouble?

 

He’s not really sure, especially since now that she’s not glaring at him for being an impertinent little shit anymore, the look on Leia’s face is this perfectly bland mask of impassivity she used to use back when negotiating with the politicians from the New Republic.

 

So, he’s either going to be commended and patted on the back for a job very well done, or be ordered to take his starfighter and fly it into the center of Scarif’s sun.

 

Obviously, there’s one option he prefers over the other.

 

Leia crosses her arms over her chest and looks at Rey, who stands loose limbed at his side, and Poe just about has a heart attack when she shrugs like it’s not a big deal when it’s the _biggest_.

 

They got _married_ , and that’s _amazing._

“It’s not like we’re keeping it a secret,” she points out easily, obviously not nearly as concerned about potentially being sent out to see if the old Hoth base is still viable in case they ever need to leave Scarif. “That was half of your biological parents’ problem, wasn’t it? The secret part? That’s what Sabé said before the ceremony.”

 

Leia snorts, “I told Poe _not_ to propose.”

 

“And he didn’t,” Rey shrugs. “Like he said, it was my idea.”

 

So, Leia turns back to Poe, and he resolves to keep as straight a face as he can, and then she looks back at Rey, who looks right back and sees nothing wrong with pretty much anything she does, _ever_.

 

After all, she _did_ complete the mission and secured Naboo’s financial backing for the New Rebellion, which is the biggest of any big deals that, for some reason, they’re _not_ talking about right now.

 

“I hope you realize this is probably going to put a damper on recruitment once everyone finds out the Rebellion’s most eligible bachelor ran off and got _married_.”

 

“Wait, _what?_ ” Poe shakes his head, scowls when he realizes Leia is _absolutely_ fucking with him and Rey is barely concealing her snickers behind the hand she smacked over her mouth. “Somehow, I think we’ll manage.”

 

With another chuckle, Leia shakes her head, “Don’t make me regret this, you two,” she then smirks. “At the very least, I won’t have to worry about you two drawing out any nonsense. Betting pools a bout high-profile base relationships aren’t nearly worth the aggravation everyone thinks they are.”

 

And with that, Leia leaves the conference room, patting Rey on the shoulder as she goes, but she makes her way _around_ Poe on the way out the door, the clearest signal he’s going to get that he’s probably still a little bit in the nerf-house.

 

When they’re alone, Rey turns to him, head tilted in curiosity, “Why do I feel like she’s speaking from a _lot_ of experience?”

 

A deep, throaty laugh escapes him before he can stop it from happening, and he just lets it, swings an arm around her shoulders and presses his mouth to her temple, “Come on, wife,” a little thrill runs through him at the word, and how casually he just _gets_ to use it. “Let’s go grab a bite and I’ll tell you _all_ about the things people thought Leia and Solo were getting up to when the Rebellion was stationed on Hoth.”

 

Rey slips her arm around his waist and lets him guide her into turning, tucks her fingertips around his waistband, “I like that plan.”

 

—

“There you guys are!” Finn says as he drops his tray on the table across from Rey and Poe and settles into his meal of fried local fish and a side of diced fruit—seriously, for all its blood-soaked history, there are some _huge_ perks to being based on an island world. “I’ve been hearing the _wildest_ rumors since you two got back from Naboo. Seriously, I’ve never heard scuttlebutt this ridiculous, and I used to serve on a ship where Kylo Ren had temper tantrums on a terrifyingly _regular basis_.”

 

They’ve only been back a few hours, most of which were spent in Leia’s office both debriefing and being admonished for eloping, so that means BB-8 must have been telling tales to the other droids.

 

That little shit.

 

Rey glances at Poe out of the corner of her eye, sees the slight smile he’s trying to stop from turning into that giant, ridiculous grin he had firmly plastered on his face the whole trip back.

 

Hidden by the table and how they’ve strategically chosen one that’s in the corner of mess where it’s a little quieter, Rey squeezes Poe’s fingers where he holds their hands against his thigh, “Oh yeah?” Poe asks innocently, and maybe he _might_ have a little bit of a chance at a successful career as a spy, if he ever wants to retire from piloting—which is never going to happen. “What have people been saying?”

 

Finn washes down a bite with a long swig of caf, clears his throat like he’s about to make some proclamation, and Rey has to steel herself for what she knows is about to come out of his mouth.

 

“That you two got _married_ ,” he ends with a hiss as if he’s worried about catching the attention of any eavesdroppers, and gestures between them with his mug. “Most people around here don’t even know that you two are—whatever the hells you two are. By the way, have you figured that out yet?”

 

“Is _together_ not an appropriate enough term for you?” Rey rolls her eyes and steals another glance at Poe, who grins, and while Finn may think it’s because they’re a pair of idiots in love—and it’s not like they’re _not_ —it’s also a wordless question about _just_ how long they can milk this before Finn figures out they’re absolutely bullshitting him.

 

“Oh yeah,” Poe agrees, going along with it like they’re not still holding hands under the table like a pair of teenagers on their first date. “Who needs labels anyway?”

 

_Oh yeah_ , Finn’s totally going to kill them.

 

The conversation turns away from the actually accurate rumors about them and Finn fills them in on what they’ve missed in the weeks they’ve been gone. He’s halfway through the story of how Snap had both a hilarious and terrifying near-miss with C’ai’s starfighter because the New Rebellion is painfully lacking in competent mechanics, when one such competent mechanic steps into the mess, finally released from the morning shift.

 

Once she’s gotten her lunch, Rey waves a hand to get her attention, and Rose takes one look at them and _squeals_.

 

“ _Oh my gods!_ ” Rose’s voice echoes from three meters out and completely overwhelms whatever Finn was about to say about Karé’s reaction to the whole adventure. “Oh my gods! You two totally did it, didn’t you?”

 

“Did what?” Finn turns wide eyes toward Rose, and back to Rey and Poe, and then to Rose again. “What did you do? Did you two get caught having sex on top of the Falcon again?”

 

“Hey!” Rey hisses and tosses her napkin at him, which hits him square in the eyes. “You promised you weren’t going to mention that in public!”

 

He sweeps the napkin away and it tumbles off the table, “But what did you _do?_ ”

 

Before Rey can answer, Rose drops her tray on the table and answers for them, “They got _married!_ ” She squeals and looks like she’s on the verge of happy tears. “While they were on Naboo! Oh my god, are there pictures? Did BB-8 record it? BB-8 better have recorded it.”

 

Finn’s jaw drops, “Wait, Rose is _right_?” He goggles as he stares up at her. “How did _you_ find out? What did you hear? What did I miss?” He turns a glare toward Rey and Poe. “And _why_ didn’t you two _say anything_? How could you not tell me, your best friend? Rude.”

 

Taking advantage of being taller than Finn for the moment, Rose bends at the waist and kisses his cheek before she carefully swings her leg over the bench and settles next to him, pats Finn on the spot she pressed her lips to in a manner that is both adorable and hilariously patronizing, “Finn, I don’t know how you missed it. Rey isn’t even right-handed.”

 

Finn’s head snaps back so quick that Rey worries for a second that he’s going to hurt himself, but then she watches him narrow his eyes at her right hand and the fork she’s clutching awkwardly in her fingers, because it’s really a lot easier for her to hold utensils with her left.

 

“Sorry buddy,” Poe laughs and lifts their joined hands, where yes, Rey is wearing the ring that he inherited from Shara Bey, and it’s a weight she’s very slowly, very _happily_ , getting used to.

 

“ _Seriously_ guys?”

 

Rey shrugs, still smirking around a bite of food, because she’s hungry and has her priorities straight, “Oh come on, we _had_ to.”

 

“You two are the absolute worst,” Finn scoffs at them. “ _Pilots_.”

 

“But we’re your favorite pilots.”

 

Finn scowls at Poe, “Not right now, you’re not.”

 

She can’t help it, laughs so hard she snorts and drops her head on Poe’s shoulder, “We are sorry Finn.”

 

“Are we really?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Rey jabs Poe in the side with her elbow, all the while not moving her head from his shoulder, “ _Yes_ , we are,” she tilts her head a little so she can see Finn. “Well, what do you want to know?”

 

Finn shares a wide-eyed look at Rose, and they both turn back and chorus, “ _Everything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 193:  
> “What is that THING in your backpack?” 
> 
> “It’s my new pet dragon.” 
> 
> “Dragons aren’t real!” 
> 
> “Then why is there one in my backpack?”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two coming tomorrow night! If you enjoyed, I so appreciate comments and kudos or any kind of incoherent shrieking on your preferred platform. You guys are the best!
> 
> And now, some commentary: 
> 
> I was going to mention that the room Rey’s bunking in on the Falcon was very likely the same room Ben Organa was conceived in, but that was a level of ridiculousness that I chose to ignore for the sake of the overall tone of this fic. So in this case, pretend that Han and Leia conceived Ben in, I don’t know, one of the smuggling compartments or something.
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 182:  
> “Unless I screw this up again, I’m going to marry you.” 
> 
> “Well you better not mess this up.”


End file.
